


The Castle

by Lady Angel (dameange)



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-06
Updated: 2010-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-11 13:03:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dameange/pseuds/Lady%20Angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Warden of a military prison has strange ideas about keeping control. Unfortunately, he butts heads against a new inmate... General Chris Larabee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you and huge big hugs to both Phyllis and Karen. They both held my hand and got me through this monstrous story. Thank you to Adrianna, my bestest friend, who checked the military aspect of the story as best she could while helping the victims of Hurricane Katrina with the rest of her unit. I'd also like to thank the B team and the wip-it-good challenge. Without them, this story would have never been finished because it took the threat of public humiliation for me to write this story. The challenge made me finish the story, but Phyllis, Karen, and my teammates were the reason I remained semi-sane. Thank you to all of you.

Part One   


_Take a look at a castle, any castle. Now, break down the key elements that make it a castle. They haven't changed in over a thousand years._

_One: location. A site on high ground that commands the territory for as far as the eye can see._

_Two: protection. Big walls, walls strong enough to withstand a full frontal attack._

_Three: a garrison. Men who are trained and willing to kill._

_And four: a flag. You tell your men "you're soldiers and that's our flag." You tell them "nobody takes our flag." Then you raise that flag high where everyone can see it._

_Now, you've got yourself a castle._

* * *

Colonel Winter nodded at the guardsmen as they buzzed his car through the iron gates. Passing a critical eye over guards and inmates alike, he nodded in satisfaction. Guards stood on the walls and on the grounds, weapons at the ready, eagle eyes trained on their prey. He could see only a few of the inmates, though, for the morning meal bell had just rung. Exiting the jeep, he grabbed his briefcase, returning the salute of one of the captains. He headed towards the admin building, stopping briefly on the stairs, saluting the flag that flew proudly in the middle of the yard.

"Good morning, sir."

"Lieutenant." He returned the salute, satisfied with his second's appearance. He was grooming the younger man to take over his post when the brass decided to promote him. Perez certainly looked like how a second-in-command should look: dark blonde hair perfectly trimmed, dark eyes clear and showing no hint of too much partying over the weekend. "How are we this morning, Perez?"

Perez followed in his commander's wake, eyes darting from his clipboard to Winter's back. "Eight hundred and thirteen in the general population, three in the infirmary, and two in solitary."

"Excellent." Winter accepted a coffee from his secretary with one hand, while opening the door to his office with the other. Setting his briefcase down on his desk, he opened it, reverently extracting a perfectly restored Civil War bayonet. "And our men?"

"Nemez and Wilson are on leave but C Company is at full strength."

Winter nodded, blinking as Perez opened the curtains. Light fell upon the large cabinet filled with war memorabilia that dominated the far wall. He ignored his second as he carefully placed the newly acquired bayonet in its predestined spot amongst his other trophies. Smiling in satisfaction, the colonel leaned forward to wipe off a piece of lint, only to jump at the loud, sudden ruckus from outside. "What the hell?"

"It's Tanner and Thumper, sir." Perez nodded out the window overlooking the yard. "Remember, sir? You ordered less basketballs out there today."

Winter's irritation turned to smug satisfaction as he joined the younger, taller man at the window. "So I did."

They both watched as Thumper circled the much smaller, longhaired white man.

"If you think about it, this is really an interesting example of stimulus and response," Winter mused, placing his hands behind his back, contemplating the inmates down below.

"Sir?"

"No matter what stimulus we create, the response is always the same. It always ends up in the Yard. Different actors in different parts, of course, but the basic play itself doesn't vary." Winter watched with bored detachment as the two men began pummeling each other. Nearly yawning as he watched more and more of the inmates join the fight. As predicted, it was the whites against the blacks. "Someone should write a paper on it."

* * *

Tanner wiped the blood off his mouth, smirking. "Damn, boy, you hit like a girl."

Thumper growled, but the black man's eyes twinkled. "I don't wanna meet the girl that can hit like me." He flexed his incredibly massive arm, reaching out.

Tanner danced out of the way, a leg kicking out, forcing all of the air out of the big man's stomach. Thumper groaned in pain. "Ya know, I could go down on this fight," he offered quietly.

"Nah, just take it easy on me, kid."

"Okay." Tanner's mischievous grin should have warned him. His leg swung out and Thumper was swept off his feet. Literally.

"Mother fucker," Thumper hissed, dazedly staring up at the sky.

"Thumper!" He jerked up, catching the lead weight tied to a rope sliding across the asphalt from one of his 'brothers.'

Tanner's eyes widened, ducking under that swinging weight, narrowly missing another set of inmates bashing it out. He vaguely heard Grece hiss to his black friend and current opponent, "Damnit, Franklin, take it easy on me!" Franklin laughed but pulled his next punch.

"Who'll give me odds?" The cultured Southern accent was completely at odds with bloodthirsty battle cries surrounding it.

"Standish," Sanchez yelled, "it's a brawl, you fool! How the fuck are you going to take action on a brawl?"

Standish shrugged. "It's a fight like any other, Preacher." He pulled out a little black notebook. "The winner is whomever has the most men standing when the bell rings. Or in this case, the horn sounds." He turned, eyes searching before he found the young man standing away from the crowd. "Dunne will keep count."

Big brown eyes widened as their owner blinked a confused question at the bookie.

Standish smirked, tilting his head towards the fight, shifting his cloth bag to the side. The kid immediately started counting. "Based on numbers, I'd say it's ... 3 to 2, in favor of the whites." He glanced around. "Who's in?"

"Six bundles say whites!" "Ten says black!"

"Shit," Dellwo hollered, "you bettin' against the brothers?!?!"

Standish shrugged, smirking at the thin, black man nicknamed "Cueball" because of his perpetually bald head. "I'm not betting against anyone, Dellwo. I'm the house. I am merely an exchange for people who want to bet—"

"Fuck you and your house!" Dellwo muttered. "Three on my brothers!"

"Three for Mr. Dellwo," Standish agreed before leaning forward. "And for you, Mr. Jackson? Three on your brothers as well?"

As the adage goes, if looks could kill, Ezra P. Standish would have been a smoking grease stain. Nathan Jackson, the man everyone called 'Doc,' turned away. "Y'all call me if there's an idiot left to patch up."

"Shit! Look out!"

The three men duck instinctively.

* * *

Winter's face darkened as a guard, McClaren, ducked. The flying weight flew from Thumper's hand and barely missed the sergeant's head. "End it."

Perez nodded, lifting his radio.

* * *

"Shit! Sir! I didn't mean — it just flew!"

The horn blared through the shocked silence. Men dropped to the ground, covering their heads. All of them, except Thumper.

"Thumper! Get down!" Tanner yelled.

"Get down, Thump!" Nathan yelled, tugging at the big man's pants.

"Sergeant, I didn't mean it! Sor—"

"Get down, you idiot!"

BangBangBang

Bodies jerked at the noise, all eyes following the slow descent of Thumper's body.

Captain Zamora lowered his rifle, a smirk clearly playing on his lips as he raised the radio. "Target down, sir."

Winter smiled, flicking off a salute to his best towerman. "And, for the moment, the jungle is quiet."

* * *

Part Two  


"Are you here to pay me, Mr. Duffy?" Standish barely looked up from his calculations at the tall, nervously shifting man.

"Yeah. Here."

He glanced at the outstretched hand. "Mr. Duffy, I am not sure if you failed to notice, but I already have my own." He held up his own pen, clicking it a few times to emphasize his point.

"Nah, man." The brown haired man quickly unscrewed the pen, tilting it, and catching a large white pill.

Standish quirked an eyebrow.

"It's Percodan, dude. A pain killer."

"And, pray tell, what am I suppose to do with a pain killer?"

Duffy shrugged, bouncing a little in his nervousness. "Well, I dunno. I mean, I just thought you'd take it."

"In lieu of the nearly thirty bundles of cigarettes you owe me?" Standish rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "I don't know if you've happened to notice, but I haven't sustained any injuries needing this particular medication."

Duffy's face fell.

"Awww, hell." Standish held out his hand. "Just give it to me."

Duffy's smile threatened to split his face. "So I'm good?"

"Yes," Standish sighed, "you're good."

"Thanks, dude!"

Watching the other man lope away, Ezra shook his head. Glancing down at the pill, he sighed. "And what am I to do with you?"

* * *

"Shit that fuckin' hurts!"

Jackson grunted in agreement as he slowly helped Thumper into his cell. "Yeah, well, sleep on your stomach tonight. And keep your shirt off tomorrow as much as you can. Let that ointment do its job. I'll try to get you some Advil or something."

Thumper snorted. "Yeah, right. Like the colonel," he sneered the title, "is gonna let me have anythin' to kill the pain." He grunted, gritting his teeth as Jackson lowered him to his bunk. "Don't hurt too bad now, Doc. But when they hit? Shit, man, I got shot by a real bullet once and I swear it didn't hurt half as much as these damn rubber things."

"Yeah, well, that's the upside to real bullets. They cut through the skin, hit fewer nerve endings." Jackson winked. "'Course, on the downside, they can kill you."

Thumper snorted, slowly stretching out, but stopping short when his hand nudged something metallic. "Hey, Doc, what's this?"

Jackson frowned as his friend handed him a pen. Hearing a rattle, he opened it, brow furrowing in concentration as he held the pill up to the light. "Percodan."

"Perca — what?"

"A pain killer. A really strong one, Thump." Jackson smiled. "Looks like someone's looking out for you. Take it now, it'll help the pain."

Thumper nodded, tossing the pill back, swallowing it dry.

"Hey, Thump, you okay?"

They both turned at the soft Texas accent.

"Yeah, just got me some Perca-something. Doc says it'll help the pain." He turned onto his stomach, eyes fluttering in relief.

"Sorry about that." Tanner murmured. "But you know Winter's game, Thump. You know he wants us at each other's throats. Next time, just drop."

"Yeah, I just ... dunno. I didn't mean to hit McClaren. He's one of the few decent guys out there."

"Yeah," Tanner sighed. "I know. Night, man."

Thumper barely lifted his hand in response.

"C'mon," Jackson murmured. "Let him sleep." He joined Tanner at the cell door.

"We gotta do something, Nate," Vin murmured. "Can't keep goin' on like this."

Nathan nodded. "Josiah says he saw a sign. Says a change is coming."

Tanner didn't hide his smirk as the horn blew, a signal for the men to move back to their cells for the night. Blue eyes raked over the inmates, checking things over. His eyes lingered on one particular cell, making sure no one was bothering the Castle's youngest prisoner. "Yeah, well, it's either that or he's been dippin' too much into that brew of his."

Jackson laughed.

* * *

"Colonel Winter? I have an urgent message for you."

"I'll take it, Sylvia," Lieutenant Perez held out his hand, smiling charmingly at the colonel's secretary.

"Actually, sir, it's a Class A transfer." Sylvia didn't fall for it and held the papers out to the colonel instead of the lieutenant's outstretched hand. Perez took it from her when it was obvious the colonel wasn't going to.

"Class A transfer?" He didn't look up from the reorganization of his Civil War replicas.

"The Rabbit Hole trial ended today, sir."

Winter froze. "I don't understand. The trial began today."

"He, uh, plead guilty, sir." Perez glanced once more at the fax. "They're expediting his transfer – as a courtesy."

"As a courtesy? For God's sake ... they should ... they should be naming an army base after the man, not sending him here." Winter gently dropped the miniature toy soldier to the table, running his hand over his mostly smooth head. "My God, Christopher Larabee."

The lieutenant and secretary watched silently as Winter paced to the window overlooking the yard, filled with the US military's rejects. He inhaled deeply. "Well, we have a verdict, a sentence, and a prisoner. We do our job. Whether we like it or not."

"Yes, sir." Sylvia slipped out of the room, undoubtedly making the necessary arrangements.

"General Christopher Larabee." Winter quirked his lips at Perez. "Puts us on our toes, doesn't it?"

* * *

Standish's ears perked at the sound of screeching gears, pulling open the two giant metal doors that locked them away from the outside world. Snapping the book shut and sliding into the bag slung across his shoulders, he ambled over to where the other inmates crowded against the chain-linked fence. Everyone wanted a look.

"Here he comes," Standish murmured to no one in particular.

"Big fuckin' deal," Wilmington muttered.

"It is," Tanner's quiet voice still sounded loud against the silence that had fallen over the men as they watched the prison bus roll to a stop.

"This is the first time anyone with a rank above a colonel has ever been sent to the Castle," Sanchez added, eyes glued to the bus' doors.

The doors opened slowly, the jangle of leg chains echoed in their ears, reminding them of their own trip to the Castle. The restriction was the same for each one of them as it was for this general. The leg chains led up to metal bracelets, clasped above loosely curled fists. The men were silent, remembering the feel of those bracelets. It wasn't until they saw his face did they react.

"Damn, he's young," Wilmington stated, eyes squinting against the light to make sure.

"The youngest general in the last fifty years," Jackson clarified.

"I give him a week," Wilmington declared.

"A week," Standish asked. "Until what?"

"'Till he scrags himself." Wilmington smirked. "If the disgrace of the court martial wasn't bad enough, a couple of days in this shithouse will definitely put him over the edge."

"A week?" Standish repeated, clearly interested, hand sliding into his bag for his ever-present book.

"Yeah, that's right." Wilmington nodded. "Five bundles says so."

Standish nodded, smirking as he scribbled. "I do believe I'll take those odds. Mr. Wilmington. One week. Anyone else?"

"You have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," Jackson sneered, glaring at the bookie and Wilmington.

"Please, Mr. Jackson, of course I do." Standish grinned rakishly at the other men. "We could do this like the Final Four. A carton a square." He winked at the other men. "Just to make it fair. Who's in? Tanner?"

"No," Tanner drawled, eyes still following the general's slow progress into the admin building. "I'm not gonna bet whether a man is gonna kill himself. That's fucked up, pilot." He jerked his chin towards the general. "'Sides, look at him."

Men turned but obviously didn't see what Tanner saw.

"He's tougher than that," Tanner declared, before turning away from the bookie.

"Tougher? How much tougher? Five weeks? Eight?"

"Eight," Duffy said.

"Eight for Mr. Duffy." Standish quickly wrote it down, before glancing around.

"You are one ice cold fucker, Standish."

"Mr. Sanchez, I resent that implication." He smiled charmingly, going so far as to place his hand over his heart. "After all, I am not the one who thinks that the general will kill himself. I am merely a facilitator for all of these fine gentleman who believe he will."

"Yes, well, they should think again. No man becomes a general at such a young age without knowing how to survive, how to endure. A man like that would be forged in the fire of battle, endured the —"

"—and next week on Masterpiece Theatre ... Little Women." Standish rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Enough, preacher. Are you in?"

Sanchez guffawed. "Yeah, I'm in. His full sentence."

Standish shook his head. "It's your carton, my friend."

* * *

Part Three  


Perez gently tapped on the door. "Sir?" Sticking his head in, he called out, "Prisoner Larabee is here, sir." Nodding, he kept the eye roll to himself when the colonel held up five fingers. "Yes, sir." Pulling back out, he informed the prisoner that the colonel would be with him in five minutes. The general, for all intents and purposes, didn't seem to care.

Larabee merely stood in the hallway, arms around a box holding personal effects and the changes of clothing that were allowed inside. Perez cringed at the thought that such a man would be reduced to holding all of his worldly possessions inside a cardboard box. "If you'd like, you can put that down."

Perez hadn't even notice Dunne there, his mop now placed against the wall.

Larabee raised an eyebrow, glancing the lieutenant then at the other prisoner. "Me, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir, I mean, yes, Prisoner Larabee." Perez shook his head, angrily marching to Dunne's side. "I didn't mean you, Dunne."

"Oh, sorry." The young man's voice was quiet, low. His dark eyes dropped but not before Perez saw the gleam of hero worship in them when they had rested on Larabee. He hoped to God this wouldn't become a problem.

The intercom crackled. "Sylvia, send them in, please."

* * *

Winter stood with his back to his office, hands clasped at the small of his back, seemingly engrossed in watching the inmates in the Yard.

"Colonel Winter?"

He turned, smiling both at his lieutenant and then at the general – former general. "I know what you're thinking: do you salute me or do I salute you? The answer to both is 'no.' My men salute me, of course, and each other, but there's no saluting by the general prison population."

Larabee nodded as his eyes took in everything in the room before settling on the colonel.

"Hungry?" the colonel asked politely when it seemed Larabee had nothing to say.

"No, thank you."

"You sure?" Colonel Winter turned on his most charming smile for the taciturn general's benefit. "Thursdays are Salisbury steak night."

"Always a reason for celebration," Larabee agreed, but Winter heard a thread of something. Sarcasm, maybe?

"Indeed. Could I at least interest you in some lemonade?"

Larabee nodded at that. "Thank you."

Winter nodded to Perez. As the lieutenant left, the colonel stepped forward, sweeping a hand towards the window. "If you'll step over here, I can give you the basic layout of the facility. We're in the Administration building." As Larabee joined him, he pointed to the far wall. "Those buildings across the yard are the Tiers, where the inmates live. That long, low building over to your right is where the workshops and laundry are located."

Winter looked over and up to see Larabee staring intently at the old, half broken-down stone wall in the middle of the yard. "That's the old blockhouse wall. It's all that remains of the original building where the first prisoners stayed, back in the 1870s. We noticed the wall was leaning earlier this year, so I asked the men to take it down, rebuild the foundation, and put it back up." He shrugged with an air of practiced nonchalance. "They enjoy working on it; gives them something to do. It's become a matter of some pride, actually."

"I see."

Winter didn't think so, but thought perhaps the general was in shock. After all, it must be an adjustment going from a respected general to an inmate at the Castle. He turned as the door opened. Perez entered with the lemonade, placing the glasses on the table, only to slip away again.

"Thank you," Larabee murmured, picking up the glass, returning to stare out into the Yard.

"You're welcome, Mr. Larabee. Now, I personally meet with every new inmate soon after they arrive. I always ask them a question – what do you expect here at the Castle?"

"Nothing," Larabee answered.

"Excuse me?"

"I just want to do my time and go home," he clarified.

Winter beamed like a teacher with a particularly bright student. "Excellent. That's the perfect answer. I—"

"Colonel? I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's a slightly urgent message for you." Perez held the door open, clearly waiting for his superior. "I'll wait with Mr. Larabee if you'd like, sir."

"Yes, thank you." He turned to Larabee. "If you'll excuse me."

The blond man nodded, still staring out into the Yard.

Perez stood at ease in front of the door, warily watching the general as he placed the glass back onto the coaster and moved towards the cabinets that held the colonel's collection.

"Impressive," the general murmured.

Perez nodded, moving closer just in case. "Do you collect anything, sir?"

Winter stopped just outside his office door as he heard Perez's question.

"A few coins," Larabee shrugged, "from the countries I've visited. Nothing military." He leaned over, carefully studying a musket ball. "My father didn't care for military collections and I agreed."

"Was your father military?"

Larabee nodded. "He said the only kind of man who has a collection like this is a man who's never set foot on a battlefield. A musket ball like this one from Shiloh is just an interesting artifact. To a combat vet, it's a hunk of metal that probably caused some poor bastard a world of pain."

Winter's fists clenched as he resisted the urge to barge in, to correct the man's obviously erroneous assumption. Instead, he schooled his features into a benevolent mask. "Well, now that that's all taken care of, Lieutenant Perez, it's time for you to escort Prisoner," he stressed the word, "Larabee to his cell."

To his disappointment, Larabee's face never changed from its expression of bored detachment. He spun on his heel to allow Larabee and Perez to pass, glaring at their backs. His eyes narrowed as he saw the young prisoner over their shoulders. "Mr. Dunne! What are you doing?"

Dunne's eyes widened, his upraised arm wavering. "I – I —"

"Mr. Dunne, this man is a prisoner! You do not salute him. Saluting him is not only no longer required, it is, in fact, prohibited. Are we clear on that?" How dare he salute the man? He was a general, but a disgraced one. He had lost that privilege, that respect.

"Y-yes, sir, but—"

"But what, prisoner?"

"I— I was saluting you."

Winter instantly deflated, eyes darting to Larabee. From the small smirk playing on the man's lips, it was obvious the prisoner took amusement from his overreacting. He shook his head. "That is not necessary, Mr. Dunne."

Dunne nodded again, wide-eyed.

* * *

"Just do your own time, don't get involved in anybody else's game, you'll be fine."

Chris nodded absently at the lieutenant's words, eyes raking over the three levels of cell upon cell. Eyes, many dead and cold, looked down at him in silence. He used to despise men like these. Men who had disgraced the uniform. Disgraced the honor of being a US Military officer. Now he was one of them.

He fought the anguish welling up, but remembered his father's words, "You go in there, and you come right back out, you hear me, son? You did what you had to. You did what was right. It was those damn news vultures and the politicians that hung you out to dry."

He didn't want to believe it, but there were tears in the old man's eyes. "You did the right thing. You don't belong in there. So do what you have to and come home to your family."

It was the last time he spoke to his father, right before being transferred here. Dropping the box onto his bunk, Chris stared at what was to be his home for the next five years. A cell so small that when he reached out with one hand and placed it against one wall, he barely had to strain to touch to opposite one. Hanging his head, he breathed in deeply.

He tried to remember that it was only right, paying for the death of his men.

* * *

Part Four  


Chris stared down at the tray, at his very first meal in the Castle. While it wasn't as bad as battle rations, it came damn close. Sighing, he reached for the roll. It, at least, looked somewhat appetizing.

"S-s-sir. M-m-may I?"

Chris barely glanced to his left, but saw the same young man who'd been in the colonel's hallway when he'd arrived. The kid didn't look dangerous, so he nodded. The smile he received was brilliant but he ignored it, turning to stare out the window. Since the mess couldn't fit all of the prisoners at once, they were split into two shifts. While one shift ate, the other would finish up their work details and wait for their turn. Once both shifts had eaten, they would be released into the yard.

From his seat, he could see the old prison wall the inmates "worked on."

"They're d-d-doing it wrong," the soft, hesitant voice said from his left.

Chris ignored it, scooping up another tasteless spoonful.

"M-m-my d-d-dad was a m-m-mason. He knew how to build'em and he s-s-showed me. It's all wrong."

He didn't say anything, but had to agree with the kid. He didn't know masonry from blacksmithing, but even he could see that the wall wouldn't hold up for shit. It looked like a strong wind could blow it down. Chris tensed as another gray-clad body sat down opposite his own seat, tray placed gently onto the table.

"Hello, sir."

He glanced up at the black man, studying him before nodding in acknowledgement.

"I don't know if you remember me, sir, but I served under you for a few years."

"Dr. Nathan Jackson, thirty-third medical group." Chris smirked inwardly at the other man's surprise. He had prided himself on knowing those under his command. It made for a more loyal, cohesive group.

"Yes, sir, I'm surprised you remember." Jackson's eyes flicked up as another man joined them.

Chris studied the doctor before looking up at the newcomer who was obviously Jackson's friend. The black man had shown promise, a good military officer who really gave a damn for those under his care. Reeling through the memories, he found the right one that told him why the other man might have been sent here. He finally glanced over at their company, eyebrow raised in inquiry.

"Vin Tanner," the man murmured before darting a glance over to his left. "Hey, kid, scram for a bit, okay?"

The kid's eyes were wide and hurt, but he quickly nodded, stumbling in his haste to leave.

Chris turned to make sure the kid was okay, then turned to study his latest dining companion. He was younger than both he and the doctor, but something in his blue eyes hinted at a much darker past that belied his youth.

The way he returned Chris' stare told him everything he needed to know. He smirked inwardly, pegging Tanner instantly. Highly intelligent, he hid it behind a quiet nature. He was also the kind of man who only respected and answered to authority he believed was rightly earned. Eyes not breaking their stare down of the blue ones – damn if he was going to back down first – he said, "You were caught smuggling narcotics, weren't you, doctor?"

Jackson nodded, eyes downcast. "Yes, sir."

Tanner's eyes widened, shooting towards the doctor and losing their game. "You told me it was because you took down two MPs!"

Chris kept his head down, hiding a real smile at Jackson's sputtering.

"Well," Jackson straightened, "why do you think I was anywhere near an MP to begin with?"

Tanner laughed, shaking his head.

"What can I do for you?" Chris asked, curiosity finally getting the better of him.

"You still got friends high up in the Pentagon, right?" Tanner asked, face falling into serious lines, all pretense at humor gone.

"Not many. Why?"

"We were hoping you could talk to someone," Jackson clarified, shifting closer.

"About?"

"About what it's like here. The truth."

Chris stared at Jackson, instincts raising as both Jackson and Tanner leaned closer, their words in hushed whispers.

"It's a fuckin' jungle in here, cowboy, and it isn't an accident."

Larabee's eyebrow went up at the term but let the man continue.

"Winter sets us against each other – black versus brown, brown versus white – keeps things stirred up."

"As soon as it starts to die down," Jackson continued where Tanner left off, "he starts fanning and blowing and boom! People are at each other's throats again."

"Let me get this straight," Larabee said, putting his fork down and leaning forward. "There is violence in a place filled with convicted criminals?" Chris knew his voice had been as dry as the Arctic when both men sighed.

"It's just not that the colonel instigates violence, he also provides substandard services," Jackson insisted, eyes obviously trying to convey something. "If anyone gets injured – in a fight he's provoked – they're on their own."

Tanner nodded. "Doc spends half his time stitching people up."

"He provides substandard services?" He almost laughed as the both leaned forward eagerly, as if they thought he was taking them seriously. His next words proved them wrong. "You want to talk about 'substandard services'? My first month in Iraq, I had a friend who had to treat himself for a compound fracture."

Jackson hissed in annoyance. "You can't compare—"

"That's right, you can't compare. This is summer camp. And you're ..." Larabee sneered as he stood. "You're whining."

"There've been murders," Tanner said low but clear, his hand shooting out to stop the general from leaving the table. "By Winter and his men."

Larabee sank back down, eyes darting to Jackson and Tanner, studying the validity of their words. Their eyes said they believed this.

"Sometimes, when there's a fight in the Yard, an inmate will make a mistake. Touch a guard, get too close, something. You do that and you get shot," Jackson said, eyes darting to the guards surrounding the room. "Usually it's just rubber bullets."

"But sometimes, it's not." Tanner too glanced around, seeming to relax as none of the guards paid them any attention. Their focus was on the troublemakers, like Wilmington.

"Three times in the past two years there's been a 'mix-up' and real bullets have been used."

"Three in two years?" Larabee repeated. Jackson nodded.

"And wouldn't you know it, the three guys who died were all guys makin' trouble for the colonel." Tanner sneered the title.

"You may think it's whining, sir," Jackson pointed out, "but someone needs to look into these deaths."

"We've tried, but who gonna listen to a bunch of crooks, right?" Tanner laughed bitterly, fork pushing food around the tray.

Larabee held himself still, except for his eyes as they roamed over the room. They saw what they saw yesterday: men who had been tried and convicted in a court of law, soldiers who were there to keep them in line. And in his mind's eye, he saw his father. He heard his words: "Come home, son."

"I'm sorry." He didn't need to look at them to feel their disappointment. "I'm not fighting anyone or anything ever again. I'm going to do my time and get out of here." With that, he stood and walked away.

"Shit, that went well," Tanner cursed before viciously shoving a mouthful of food in.

"Did you just call a brigadier general 'cowboy'?" Jackson stared at his friend in disgust.

Tanner smirked.

* * *

Following the other prisoners in his detail, Chris got his first look at his new job: laundress. Shaking his head, glad his father wasn't here to see this, he carefully watched as the prisoner assigned to show him his new job gave him instructions. He was going to do everything right, even if it killed him, because by God, he was going to keep his nose clean and get the hell out of here for good behavior.

Even if it killed him.

"Son, that laundry isn't your enemy."

He jerked at the low, rich voice next to him. Glancing over, he saw a man who had to be the oldest inmate of the prison. Silver gray hair glinted like an old nickel, but his eyes were a merry blue. He didn't answer, simply nodded, taking more care.

"Josiah Sanchez," the man said, not looking his way as he continued dumping his load into the industrial sized washing machine.

He didn't want to answer, but manners were one of the things his mother demanded of him. "Chris Larabee," he grunted.

"I know." Sanchez helped him dumped another load from the suspended bag. "Heard you turned down Doc and Tanner's proposal."

"It's not personal," he muttered, teeth clenched. Was Sanchez going to try to recruit him too? He glared at the man when a huge paw like hand patted him on the shoulder. Surprisingly, it was a gentle touch rather than the heavy handedness he expected.

"Of course, not, son." Sanchez smiled dazzlingly. "But it won't matter. You're going to help us."

He jerked away, eyes flicking around him, trying to find the possible danger that was implied in those words. "Is that a threat?"

"No, son, it's not."

Sanchez confused the hell out of him by grinning and patting his shoulder again.

"By the way, those are my clothes. Careful, huh?"

* * *

Chris leaned back against the concrete steps, enjoying the sun while he could. From the dark clouds on the horizon, it was going to storm soon. Most of the prisoners knew it too, lazing around the yard, some even half-heartedly moving stones from one end of the old wall to the other. A movement caught his eye. Sitting up, Chris saw the same young man from breakfast. He was saluting. Or at least a poor facsimile of a salute. "Don't do that."

He stood, walking away from the young man. He growled as he saw the slim hand still tangled in longish dark hair. "I said – hell, at ease."

The young man dropped his arm, assuming another facsimile of the "at ease" stance.

Shaking his head, Chris took one step forward, then made the mistake of looking back. The sadness he saw in those young eyes ... . "Dunne, right?"

"Y-yes, sir!" The surprise and relief were painfully obvious.

"What branch were you in, Dunne?"

"The C-C-Corps, sir."

He nodded, tilting his head to the side. He turned back to face the younger man fully. "Miss it?"

Long bangs bounced vigorously. "Yes, sir. V-v-very much."

Against his better judgment, Chris found himself asking, "Why are you here? What did you do?"

That seemed to surprise Dunne, his eyes wide. "Uh, that's, that's just it, sir. I didn't d-d-do nothing. It was a m-m-mistake."

He nodded, not saying anything to that. If Dunne didn't want to talk about it, he wasn't going to push. After all, it wasn't like he wanted to tell anyone why he was here. Turning, he started towards the tiers, ready for the solitude of his cell.

"I hurt s-s-someone!" Dunne blurted out from behind him.

Chris mildly cursed his own feet as they stopped. Mentally shrugging, he turned back. "How long have you been in here?"

"Two years."

"How much longer do you have?" He watched quietly as Dunne approached him.

"F-f-f—" Dunne punched his own thigh, frustration radiating in waves.

"Take your time, kid," Chris gruffly ordered. Then smirked. "We're in prison. We've got nothing but time."

The lame joke did the trick as Dunne relaxed, his words coming slowly. "F-four and a half years to go."

"How's it been?" He wanted to smile at the way Dunne seemed to relax as their conversation continued. It was as if no one had ever really given him any attention. But that wasn't strictly true, he knew. He'd seen the way both Jackson and Tanner seemed to look out for the kid. He'd also seen one prisoner, the one with the ever-present black book, watch out for the kid ... when he thought no one else was looking that is. But none of them, it seemed, ever really talked to the younger man.

"Okay?" Dunne answered, shrugging but smiling slightly. It was obvious the kid was lying ... and lonely.

Chris nodded, then let his curiosity get the better of him. "Dunne, is there something wrong with your back?"

"M-m-my back? No, s-sir."

He nodded, hand waving in the private's direction. "Then why are you standing like that? I said, 'at ease,' not slouch." He fought the smile as Dunne automatically straightened, face set in concentrating lines. "And that thing you do with your hand? What is that?"

"Excuse m-m-me, sir?"

"Your hand. You look like you were running your fingers through your hair and they got stuck." Chris found himself mimicking the action, but found it wasn't the same effect since his hair was much shorter than Dunne's.

"Oh. That's a salute, sir." Dunne was so genuinely confused he made Chris sigh. And curse the military's educational system that taught the how, but not the why.

"Dunne," he blinked, realizing he didn't even know the young man's name. "What's your full name?"

"John D-D-Dunne, sir. But everyone calls m-m-me 'JD'."

"JD, do you know why you salute?"

The young man shook his head.

"It's a sign of respect." Chris smiled, seeing Dunne straighten even more, clearly soaking in his words. "A salute starts at your feet."

Dunne looked down.

* * *

Winter shook his head, expression disbelieving as he watched Larabee instruct Dunne how to salute. "At the Point, his very name was said with reverence, as if the syllables themselves conveyed all that it meant to be a soldier. And here he is now, a sad, pathetic man commanding a stuttering monkey. I can't watch." He turned his chair away from the window, disgust marring his features.

Perez watched quietly from his place by the colonel's desk.

"I told him saluting among the prisoners was prohibited, did I not?"

"Yes, sir," he answered slowly.

"Remind him, Perez."

"Yes, sir." Perez's eyes widened as Winter instructed him of Dunne's punishment.

Winter waited until he knew Perez had sufficient time to make it to the Yard. Standing, he turned towards the window to watch as his lieutenant approached the prisoners. He could barely make out their features, but Dunne was clearly startled while Larabee was clearly angry. He smiled.

The commandant's smile grew as Dunne's dejected slump returned as he walked towards the flag. He paused before it, saluting the flag, holding the pose. He turned his attention back to Larabee's still figure. His eyes narrowed as Larabee's head swung back towards his own window. He would never admit it, but he could feel the man's malevolent glare from where he stood.

* * *

Wilmington didn't bother walking fast, let alone running like the other inmates, as he followed them inside the Tiers and out of the rain. It wasn't like he needed to be dry to work in the shop. In fact, the added moisture might relieve the heat generated by the machines. Stopping at the crowded doorway, barely repressing the growl deep in his throat, he glared at the backs of the men in front him. A glint to his left turned him instinctively. He didn't want another shank in the side.

Instead, he saw the general – he mentally sneered at the term – standing mere yards away. The blond man was staring across the Yard. Turning more fully, Wilmington followed his line of sight to the kid still standing, saluting the flag even through the bitterly cold rain.

Kid was too innocent, too eager to follow others. He was just like Benny, his childhood friend that he'd talked into joining up with him. They were both too young, too stupid. He shook his head. The kid had known he shouldn't have saluted anyone, general or no. And now he was paying for his idiocy. Saluting the stupid flag for nearly an entire day, even through the storm. He flung his dark wet hair out of his eyes, mouth set in a sneer, Wilmington threw one more dirty look at the yellow haired general before shoving his way through the inmates.

He, for one, was glad he didn't have to salute any one. The last man he saluted killed his own wife and framed his wife's lover for her murder. Benny had died in his arms, after the captain shot him for "attempting to escape." Fucker deserved to die for what he did to Benny.

* * *

Larabee stared at the clock. If the power of his eyes could have moved time, it would have moved just to get the hell away from his angry glare. Since it couldn't, the once general resigned himself to going back to work, only occasionally turning towards the windows of the laundry that faced the yard. He could see the young man, still saluting. He couldn't understand what the hell possessed Winter to punish the boy like that, but Dunne, along with all the other inmates, had been warned.

When the work bell rang throughout the compound, the other inmates' heartfelt groans and chatter covered his sigh of relief. Chris told himself he wasn't hurrying to make sure the kid was okay. He just wanted to get out of the damp heat of the laundry. But he was forced to admit to himself, at least, that he was concerned for the kid when he stepped out into the Yard to find Dunne was still saluting. The boy was shivering and shaking in the cold rain, valiantly trying to hold up his hand in a very bad salute. He saw Perez and a few of his cronies standing a few yards away, near the building where solitary confinement was carried out. His eyes narrowed. Why weren't they letting the kid off the punishment detail?

"Winter's got him there. Won't let him off 'cause he was salutin' you."

Tanner's soft Texas accent make his hand itch. To do what, Larabee didn't know. But he knew he had to do something. Growling low in his throat, he strode out into the rain. "Put your hand down, son."

Dunne's wide eyes blinked in surprise but didn't move.

"Put it down, JD." Larabee was taken back at the gentleness of his own voice. For though it still carried the power of command, he saw how the other man reacted to the concern in his voice. JD lowered his hand. The lips that had trembled with the cold tilted into a grateful smile.

"General Larabee! What are you doing?"

They both turned as Perez forged his way through the mud and rain to their sides.

"Prisoner Dunne! Get your hand back up!" The lieutenant's voice held much more menace towards Dunne than it did Larabee, but the man was obviously confused as his eyes darted between the two prisoners. "Dunne!"

Dunne's hand slowly went back up into an imperfect salute.

Larabee shook his head. "No, JD—"

"General Larabee," Perez's voice held a nearly silent plea.

"According to the Uniform Code of Military Justice, no corporal punishment—"

"Dunne! Get that hand up!" Perez raised his own hand, the yard's lights glinting off the shiny baton.

Dunne flinched, but the blow never came. Instead, he stared wide-eyed at the general's arm, blocking the blow. The sharp piercing whistle made him flinch, the horn made him drop to the ground.

Larabee saw the shock and remorse in Perez's eyes before a blow from behind felled him. He barely had time to brace himself before another blow sent shards of pain through his side. He dully heard Perez yelling at his men to stop as he slowly pushed himself off the ground.

"Lieutenant Perez! What is going on here?"

"Sir, Gen-Prisoner Larabee was interfering in the corporal punishment of Prisoner Dunne."

Larabee wasn't sure, but he thought he heard uncertainty in the lieutenant's words. Shaking his head to clear it, he faced the colonel and tried to hide his distaste of the man. It might have been the pain or maybe he took one in the head he didn't remember, but from this angle, Winter kind of looked like that actor from the "Sopranos." James something or another. Shaking his head, Chris cleared the random thought from his mind, concentrating instead on the man before him.

Winter took a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself. 'From what,' Larabee mentally snorted, he wasn't the one who got a steel toe boot in the side. "Prisoner Larabee, I understand coming here must be a big adjustment for you. To go from having thousands of men under your command to having no war to fight and no one to follow you must not be easy."

Again, Chris sneered. As if the paper pusher knew any better.

"Nevertheless, I do ask that you learn how things are done around here and set an example for the other men. As I mentioned before, saluting is prohibited."

"May I speak," he barely hesitated, "sir?"

"Of course."

"Colonel Winter, according to the Uniform Code of Military Justice, corporal punishment of a prisoner begun on the day shift may not go past that evening's horn." He could feel the utter shock of the man. What? Did no one think to question the guy's authority? Or did everyone here blindly follow the idiot? Studying the men that surrounded him, remembering the viciousness of the blows, perhaps they didn't question because they enjoyed colonel's cruel handling of the prisoners. Perez wasn't one of those men, but the boy was too unsure of himself in the situation. Larabee peered at him more closely. This one could be useful.

"Prisoner Larabee," Winter startled him out of his thoughts, "you are absolutely right. Prisoner Dunne, lower your hand and return to your cell. McClaren, accompany him please."

They all watched as Dunne slowly made his way to the door before Winter broke the silence of the rain. "Lieutenant?" He beckoned the other man, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he led him off a short ways. A few moments later, Perez stood before Larabee as the colonel returned inside.

Larabee stared at the distinctively uncomfortable man.

"Under no circumstance is an inmate allowed to make physical contact with an officer." Perez couldn't meet his eyes, staring off over his shoulder. "You've violated the US Uniform Code of Military Justice. This is a violation and requires discipline."

* * *

Part Five  


The inmates stood split in half, the Great Sea parted by Moses, the only thing that kept them still was the steady steps of the former general. Foot by foot, yard by yard, Larabee moved stones of the Wall from one end of the Yard to the other. The inmates watched in silence under the eyes of nearly a dozen guards.

"The stones weigh at least twenty pounds a piece and it'll be eighty degrees by noon," Standish broke the silence, eyes on the sun, but his hands were already pulling out his book and pencil. "We've got one hundred percent humidity," he drawled. "He won't make the day."

Jackson glared while Sanchez shook his head.

Tanner was a bit more vocal. "You don't know what the hell you're talkin' about."

"Are you willing to put your 'money' where your mouth is, Mr. Tanner?" Standish's eyes glinted.

"I am," Wilmington declared, making sure the general could hear his bet. "Put me down for two. Against."

Standish smirked over his shoulder, a knowing glint in his emerald eyes. "Anyone else?"

That set the other prisoners off, voices raised as bets were placed. Through it all, Larabee kept walking and moving the stones, eyes not once moving from the pile where his goal laid.

* * *

Winter watched from his office window, patting the sweat from his afternoon workout off his brow. Sliding his glasses off, he cleaned them, blurry eyes still watching the slowly shifting mass of men. Sliding them back on, his glasses allowed him to see that his own men were also watching Larabee's punishment. Murky brown eyes hardened as he saw the encouraging stance of a few of them.

* * *

Nathan crossed and uncrossed his arms, alternatively glaring at Standish and at Winter's window. He couldn't blame the guards or the other inmates that were witnessing the general's punishment. But he could blame Winter for his petty jealousy and Standish for betting on the man. The man, who had been a healer nearly all his life, even here in this hellhole, wanted nothing more than to bash the shit out of the two men.

Dark chocolate eyes forcibly moved themselves away from the two antagonists to focus on the man who could be the key to cleaning up this place. If only they could convince him. Nathan didn't know Larabee at all, but he could see the stubborn tilt of the man's shoulder. The general was going to move that pile of rocks come hell or high water.

"Boss," he called, turning towards McClaren, "can we get a little weather relief here? Maybe a water break?"

McClaren's eyes flicked between Nathan and the window overlooking the yard before carefully nodding.

Nathan nodded gratefully, detaching himself from Josiah and Vin. "Sir," he kept pace with the general, "take some water. If you dehydrate, you'll drop."

The general paused before carefully nodding. Nathan mimicked him but before he could get the water, JD's soft voice made him turn.

"Here, D-d-doc."

"Thanks, kid." He turned back to find Larabee already dropping the latest rock onto the pile. He quickly joined him, handing him the water.

Larabee's clear green eyes smiled a thanks but his facial expression never changed. It spooked Nathan on how much control the man had over himself. It wasn't obvious, but this close up, the doctor could tell how close the general was to dropping. From the sidelines, he hadn't noticed. Lowering his voice, he said, "You can take off the shirt, sir. It might help with the heat."

Larabee nodded, handing back the water bottle. Button by button, he undid his shirt. Since Nathan stood beside him, he didn't know what made the other prisoners shift and whispers break out. Not until he moved around and saw the latticework of scars across the general's back.

"What the fuck?" Nathan heard Tanner's whisper from somewhere near.

"Electrical burns," came a southern drawl.

Josiah grunted in agreement. "The Iraqis interrogators would smear their prisoners' back with conductive jelly, get a car battery and some frayed jumper cables and go to work."

"How long was he in there?" Tanner mumbled, almost to himself, eyes still glued to the horrendous scars that marked the general's back. Ridges and furrows of skin were a testament to the hell the man endured as a prisoner of war.

"Six years."

Tanner turned with obvious surprise at the bookie's answer.

Standish continued, talking to himself now, as much as to anyone else. "He could have gotten out after four, but he stayed two more years. He said he wouldn't leave without his men."

Nathan saw Josiah's eyes study the bookie next to him.

"Son, you sure do know a lot about a man you've laid odds against."

Standish carelessly shrugged a shoulder, eyes still on the general as he resumed the rock 'n roll detail. "I simply call it like I see it, Mr. Sanchez."

* * *

The inmates were cheering, the ruckus bringing everyone's attention to the yard and to the general who stood, hands on hips, breathing deeply as he stared at the last rock in the pile.

"You can do it, sir!"

"Last one!"

Wilmington glared at those who, hours before laid bets against the man, now encouraged him.

A cheer went up as the general bent down, grabbing the last one. It was the biggest motherfucker of them all. He staggered upright under the weight, grunts barely heard because of the cheers. He turned, eyes solidly on the goal. He was halfway there, when a flash of something to his left, made him turn.

It was a mistake.

A foot lashed out at his ankle. He went down hard, grunting in pain as his head grazed the rock his body was now hunched over.

"General! General!" He didn't turn at Jackson's voice. Simply crouched there, blinking the pain away.

"He's down! It's over!" Wilmington yelled at Standish. "Call it, Standish!"

"Ya bastard!" Tanner snarled across the divided sea, straining against Sanchez's restraining hands. "It ain't over 'til the general calls it quits! Not when ya trip him, ya yellow bastard!" His anger made his Texas drawl more evident.

"I agree," Standish murmured over the din of the other prisoners, making those nearest to him quiet ... which started a chain reaction. The bookie stared at Larabee and Jackson before filling the silence with, "Until the general says that he gives up, the bet still stands."

Jackson ignored everyone and everything as he crouched on the ground next to Larabee. His large brown hands gently cupped the other man's face, thumbs easing eyelids up to stare into mostly clear green eyes. He released the general and held up a finger. "Follow with your eyes, sir." He nodded in satisfaction as the eyes easily tracked the movement of his finger. "What's the day?"

"Wednesday."

"Name and rank?"

"Christopher Larabee, Brigadier General."

Jackson smirked at Wilmington as he stood. "He's fine," he declared.

Wilmington stepped forward, only to be distracted by the roar of the others.

Larabee was back on his feet with rock in hand. He stood there, halfway home, before letting out a low growl as he surged those last few yards. Inmates moved hastily out of his way. He grinned ferally as he twisted his body, slinging the rock over those last few feet.

His fellow prisoners roared as it landed.

Larabee turned, eyes hard and triumphant, to stare at Winter's window.

The crackle of a radio hushed the prisoners, all turned to watch Perez. The lieutenant's face hardened as Winter spoke words only he could hear. They grudgingly moved out of the way after he lowered the radio and made his way towards the general. Everyone could see his reluctance as he stiffly and oh-so-properly delivered the colonel's orders. "The discipline ordered was horn to horn labor. The disposition of the stones is immaterial. The prisoner must continue."

"What's he suppose to do, Lieutenant?" Tanner yelled. "He just moved the whole goddamn pile!"

"Then he can move it back," Perez said it calmly enough, but his body clearly radiated tension. He stared at the general, as if he knew that today's peaceful outcome rested in his hands.

Larabee stared hard at Perez, then turned to stare once more at the window, before turning to the pile.

The others yelled their approval.

Standish yelled out the new odds. "Seven to two against."

"Ten against."

"Twelve against."

"Four! In favor!"

Standish glanced over his shoulder at the soft, but excited exclamation. He grinned as he wrote down the bet. "Four in favor for Mr. Dunne."

* * *

The prisoners shifted anxiously. The shuffling of their clothes and feet were the only sounds other than Larabee's slow, steady footsteps. More than one set of eyes darted towards the stone clock above Winter's window.

"The horn?

"Where's the damn horn?"

The words started softly from within the mass of spectators, gaining momentum when the others realized that the work horn should have sounded by now.

"Damn bastard's holding the horn." "It ain't right."

The guards shifted nervously as the dissent grew in volume. Hands clenched batons, the only weapons allowed in the Yard. The wooden sticks were a sorry excuse for a weapon if the prisoners decided to riot. Breathing nearly became impossible as the prisoners' vocal dissent became physical movement.

Throughout all of this, Larabee kept moving the rocks, ignoring everything and everyone.

More than just the guards sighed in relief when the horn finally blew moments later. Larabee straightened from the last stone he would have to lift. He could feel the muscles in his back, arms, hell, his whole body screaming at him. He nodded gratefully at Tanner as he helped him ease his shirt back on. The younger man's low growl made him turn. Wilmington stood there, eyes hard, but somehow, confused.

"Why would you kill yourself to help him with his wall?"

"Because it's not his wall." He followed the other inmates towards the tiers, but paused a few steps away from the door, knowing both Tanner and Wilmington followed. "It's your wall."

Larabee's eyes flickered as green fatigues approached from his right. Turning he saw the apologetic eyes of Captain Perez.

"General, I mean, Prisoner Larabee, come with me, please."

Larabee turned to look once more at Tanner and Wilmington, before slowly followed the captain.

* * *


	2. The Castle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you and huge big hugs to both Phyllis and Karen. They both held my hand and got me through this monstrous story. Thank you to Adrianna, my bestest friend, who checked the military aspect of the story as best she could while helping the victims of Hurricane Katrina with the rest of her unit. I'd also like to thank the B team and the wip-it-good challenge. Without them, this story would have never been finished because it took the threat of public humiliation for me to write this story. The challenge made me finish the story, but Phyllis, Karen, and my teammates were the reason I remained semi-sane. Thank you to all of you.

Part Six   


Chris blinked as light flooded in from the slit they used to pass his meals to him. Blinking and adjusting his eyes, he finally saw the fresh face of what had to be a private.

"The Commandant would like to see you," he was informed in a soft, but grave voice.

He rolled his eyes. As if he had a choice in the matter. Stifling his groan, he moved his aching body to the edge of the bunk so the Commandant could see him.

Heavy footsteps announced Winter's arrival. Seconds later the man's rather large visage blocked the light and filled the meal slot. "Prisoner Larabee, did they clean you up all right?"

"Yes."

"And the cut above your eye? Not too serious, I hope?"

Chris shook his head, mentally sneering at the conciliatory tone of the man. He found himself mentally sneering a lot when in Winter's presence. "No, not too serious."

"Good. Good."

Chris waited the other man out. He, personally, had nothing to say to the pompous ass.

"I am sorry about this. It's a standard cooling off period after a punishment detail."

Again, he waited and watched as Winter inhaled deeply.

"I hope you understand why I did this." Winter stared into the cell.

Chris thought the shorter man was trying to stare into his eyes. He mentally snorted, he was doing that a lot as well. It was so damn dark that he couldn't see his own hand in front of his face, let alone meet someone else's eyes.

"I did this for the men."

"The men?" Chris remembered Tanner and Jackson's words the other day. He seriously doubted it was for the men.

"Yes, to show them." Winter stopped again.

Rolling his eyes, he knew this game, and so he gamely played along. Of course, he was also curious about the motives of such a self-deluded tyrant. "To show them what, sir?"

"To show them that you are no different than they are."

Oh, now that was a news bulletin if he'd ever heard one.

"Your friend, Mr. Dunne. He took a clawed hammer to his platoon sergeant. He maimed the man in, what others called, a fit of rage. Whenever I am filled with doubt," Winter paused, searching for the words from what had to be a memorized speech, "when sentiment creeps in, all I have to do is pull one of their files and I can see what he's done to be in this place. I can see what he's capable of. I can see the worst he's capable of and it makes my job easier." Winter looked up again, but was staring off instead of at Larabee's relative location. "It crystallizes my mission."

Larabee found himself nodding, understanding setting in. The colonel never got his chance on the battlefield. The Yard was his battlefield. The inmates were his enemy, not his responsibility to watch over, but to defeat.

Winter straightened, his footsteps echoing through the corridor of solitary confinement. "Take him back to the tiers."

"Yes, sir."

Inside the dark cell, Chris sighed.

* * *

Chris sighed and flinched all at once. The cool morning air was a welcomed relief against the musty cell, but the sun was bright as hell after the darkness of the solitary brig. He raised his handcuffed hands to shade his eyes, barely hearing or needing the private's order to stop. He couldn't move if he couldn't see where he was going, now could he?

Stretching his neck muscles, he waited patiently as the private unlocked the handcuffs before following the young man across the empty yard. It was too early for the prisoners to be out here and they wouldn't be at work for another hour yet.

"Returning Gen-Prisoner Larabee to his cell, sir."

McClaren nodded to Niebolt. "Carry on, Private."

"Yes, sir, Sergeant."

Chris rolled his eyes but returned the small smile McClaren flashed his way before following the private. He could feel the eyes that followed his every movement the second he stepped into the Tiers. He purposefully kept his eyes forward. But that didn't stop him from hearing the tinny clank, clank, clank.

It was Dunne, in a cell to his right. The young man was leaning against the bars, one hand clenched tightly around a steel bar. The other knocked his dog tag against the steel bar; the rubber surrounding the metal tag had been peeled back and hung off the chain. His eyes stared wide and worshipfully at the general.

Chris offered him a tired smile, but it grew as Dunne's face lit up. The smile he'd been offered by the young man was nothing but huge. His smile slipped as the clank of one set of dog tags grew into hundreds. He saw the surprise and delight as Dunne realized he had started something and the other inmates, for once, were following his lead.

Private Niebolt froze in his tracks, obviously not sure what to make of the inmates' way of showing respect to the once general. The other guards straightened and moved out of the inmates' reach. Their eyes were continuously scanning to make sure none of them tried anything.

Chris turned slowly, taking in all the inmates, meeting several of their eyes. Tanner, Jackson, and Sanchez were all there, shamelessly banging their tags against the bars. He let his eyes meet each one of theirs. They grinned at him; he nodded with a slight smile. He swallowed his mirth as he saw Wilmington, also knocking his tags against his bars, but was leaning oh-so-nonchalantly against the wall. As if he decided to join in on the only entertainment available for the day.

How long it went on, Chris lost track as he turned and turned, meeting eyes and acknowledging men he'd never even noticed before. How much longer it would have gone on, he didn't know either because McClaren was suddenly next to him.

"All right, that's enough! Cease and desist immediately!"

* * *

With his eyes on the mirror, it was easy to see Standish striding into his cell. Chris didn't turn; he kept shaving. "What's that?"

"This?" Standish held up his burlap sack. "These are your winnings."

"My what?" That made him turn around.

"Your winnings. Dunne placed a bet for you. Four cartons at seven to two, two at eleven to one. That makes thirty six cartons of cigarettes, general."

Chris stared bemused at the boxes and bundles of cigarettes now littering his bed.

"You know, sir, betting on yourself could get you banned from the Hall of Fame."

That surprised a bark of laughter out of Chris. Still smiling, he turned, knowing somehow that Dunne was near his door. "Mr. Dunne!"

"Yes, s-sir?" Dunne nearly jumped into cell in his eagerness.

Gathering the winnings in a towel, he slipped the whole mess into Dunne's awaiting arms. "Distribute these to the other men." When JD blinked incredulously, Chris smirked. "I don't smoke."

Dunne chuckled. "Yes, s-sir."

Chris watched him leave before turning to his other visitor. "So you're the gambler."

"I'm not a gambler, sir." Standish drawled. "I am merely a bookkeeper."

"Well, is it true there's a suicide bet going on me?"

Standish warily eyed him. "Yes, there is."

"Are there any squares left?"

"Yes, just the one. Nine weeks."

"How much to enter?" He chuckled low in his throat at Standish's blinking owl routine. He'd never seen the man lose his poker face before.

"No ... sorry, sir." Standish recovered quickly, leaning against the stationary part of the bars. "Knowing you, you'd kill yourself just to win a box of smokes."

Chris tilted his head, studying the other man before smirking. "No, Standish, I'd bet on myself to win." He let his eyes wander around the twelve by twelve cell of brick and steel. "I'd bet on getting out alive."

"Well, one doesn't always win one's bets."

He chuckled as Standish pointedly looked around the cell. "No, no you don't."

Standish didn't seem to have anything to say to that, nodding silently instead.

Chris turned away, finishing his grooming. He thought Standish would just leave, but instead the man hesitated, half in the cell, half out. "Standish?"

"I met you once." Standish seemed as surprised as Larabee was that he'd said anything.

"You did?" He turned fully to face the other man.

"The belated 'Welcome Home' ceremony at the White House. I was there." Standish had this faraway look in his eyes. "My father was one of your men. In Iraq."

Chris frowned, searching his memory. "I don't remember any Standish in my unit."

"My mother's name," the southerner answered. "She never married my father. His name was Richard Andrews."

"Ah, Andrews. He was a good man."

Standish snorted, an inelegant sound from the most dapper of the inmates. "No, he was not."

Larabee bent his most baleful glare at the younger man. "After six years of hell, everyone's a good man. It's a law."

That surprised a twitch of lips from Standish, but he sobered again. "He said you kept him alive. That you kept all of your men alive."

Chris had to laugh at the absurdity of that statement. He could feel Standish's confused emerald eyes on him. "When you're tortured, the first thing they do is break your sense of self. And I broke in that Iraqi hellhole." He gripped his towel tighter, memories washing over him. "The last thing on my mind for weeks was self-preservation. I wanted to die."

He stared at the younger man, trying to impart what, he didn't know. "Every night, after hours of beatings, I prayed for death. The only thing that kept me going were the voices of my men in the other rooms. I didn't keep them alive, Standish. They kept me alive."

* * *

Part Seven  


Wilmington watched as Larabee took his time strolling about the yard. He snorted to himself, taking a drag from the cigarette, not like they didn't have nothing but time in this shithole. He waited until Larabee wandered near enough to the pile of rocks he and some of the other inmates were lounging on. "Hey, sir."

Larabee turned, wariness in his eyes. "Yes?"

"You cost me a whole stack of smokes."

"Sorry."

Wilmington snorted, "Yeah, well, you win some, lose some."

That got a smirk from Larabee.

"So, what d'ya mean 'our wall'?" That certainly got people's attention but he ignored them as he stepped down from the pile. He carefully avoided Dunne, who was sitting on the smallest pile of rocks, to stand in front of the former general. "What d'ya mean?" he asked again. "It ain't our wall, it's Winter's Wall."

"Yeah," the men turned at Tanner's soft twang to see him, Jackson, and Sanchez, "he makes us work it, but it's his wall."

Larabee's lips twitched upwards, holding a hint of mystery and amusement. "Here, let me show you." Easing through the small crowd of men, he tilted his head this way and that. "There." He pulled a stone from the pile, handing it to Jackson.

"Private Eugene McAllister, US Army, 1912," Jackson read.

Wilmington scratched his head, staring over Larabee's shoulder. "Why the hell would someone carve their name on a prison wall?"

Larabee shrugged. "Maybe it wasn't a prison to him."

"If not a prison, then what?" Sanchez asked as he stepped forward, hand tracing over the letters and then the curve of the stone.

"A place to hide," Tanner answered quietly, eyes carefully scanning the way the wall blocked them from the guards that could come streaming out of the Tier doors. "To keep others away."

Larabee nodded, smile showing just a little. "He was probably building his own castle."

"Castle?" Josiah laughed. "And he was his own king."

That got laughter from the other men, but they were listening.

"It don't look much like a castle," Wilmington grumbled.

"It could be," Larabee pointed out. "If someone built it just right."

"And how are we suppose to do that," Jackson asked, following the general as he surveyed the mess of stones and loose mortar.

"I wouldn't know that, Doctor." He stopped, smiling as he pointed behind them all. "You might want to ask the mason's son."

They all turned, staring at the young man, still sitting on the ground.

Dunne stared back at them, startled, and with a little unease in his eyes.

* * *

Perez ran to the window, eyes wide as the inmates shouted to one another. A good percentage of the inmates were gathered at the wall. His radio crackled.

"Sir!"

"McClaren, what's going on down there?"

"I don't know, sir. It's like they're revving themselves up for something."

"Have everyone on alert, but keep away. If they don't make any aggressive moves, then leave them."

"Yes, sir."

Perez lowered his hand, but kept the radio in reach, just in case. He surveyed the crowd, not surprised to see Tanner, Jackson, and Sanchez right in the middle of everything. What he was surprised to see were Wilmington and Dunne side by side against the wall. The bigger man seemed to be listening to what the smaller man was saying. Perez couldn't remember a time when Wilmington ever had even associated with the kid.

He watched as Sanchez got everyone's attention. He could hear the deep, booming voice from his office, even if he couldn't hear the words themselves. At Sanchez's words the inmates turned, pressing their hands against the wall. Minutes later, the wall fell. Cheers and screams erupted. But never once was an aggressive move made against the guards or each other.

Perez shook his head, knowing that the blonde man who stood away from the others was the ringleader in all of this.

* * *

Chris watched, laughing silently as the men pushed the wall over. His smile grew as Dunne danced about the other men, laughing and smiling. His smile dimmed as Dunne's eyes met his own. He just knew what the kid was about to do. "Damnit, kid, no."

Dunne straightened his body, arm upraised, hand nearly to his temple.

"Damnit." His eyes darted towards Winter's window. He shook his head, trying to get Dunne to stop the salute, but the kid did it anyway. "Damnit, kid."

But Dunne had his own ideas. The salute was held for the barest second before he ran his fingers through his hair, laughing as he did so.

Chris shook his head again, but smiled ruefully at the young man who was still on his little high.

* * *

Winter stared in disbelief at the wall that was once up to his waist and now lay scattered about. A movement drew his eye. "Niebolt!"

The private ran towards him, freezing a few feet away to snap off a salute. "Yes, sir!"

"What happened here?" He gestured with his coffee cup.

"The inmates, sir. They did it."

Winter shook his head, as if trying to understand. "Why?"

"Larabee, sir. He, uh, told them too."

That caused Winter to pause and stare at the once again crumbling pile of rocks. "I see."

* * *

Buck pulled the cigarette out of his mouth with one hand while the other hand absently churned the mortar mixture the kid had come up with. Blowing the smoke out, he slapped the mortar on the next layer of the wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dunne flitting about the other inmates working on the wall. Many of them nodded at what he had to say. Shrugging, sure that sooner or later the kid would be down his way, he grabbed the closest rock at hand and dumped it on the newly mortared area.

"Wilmington, that's the wrong rock."

Buck stopped at that, eyebrow raised up high. His eyes darted towards Tanner when he heard the soft snickers. "Wrong rock? Kid, how can that be the wrong rock?"

"'Cause the rock you've got on there's all jagged. Jagged rocks go in the m-middle." Dunne scooted towards him, clearly still unsure of his reception. Not that Buck could blame him. Unlike the other inmates, even the most hardened ones, who tended to look out for the kid, Buck had completely ignored him. Or when he'd gotten too close, a few choice words were all that was needed to send the kid running.

Buck stepped out of the way, letting Dunne get to his section of the wall.

"W-what you need is a rock with a smooth edge."

"Smooth edge?" Buck leaned back, taking another pull on his smoke.

"Yeah, so the mortar can glue the sides together. Uhm," Dunne searched the rock pile, finally grabbing a rock. "yeah, here."

Buck eyed the rock, then the kid. Dunne shifted nervously. "Hey, Tanner."

"Yeah?"

"What d'ya think?"

"I think the kid knows what he's talkin' about."

Buck couldn't see Tanner, but he saw how Dunne just lit up at those words. He shook his head, but smiled ruefully. So damn young. "Yeah, I reckon you're right."

* * *

Part Eight  


Buck ignored the cheering spectators, concentrating on his opponent. The little fucker was fast on his feet and had already gotten past him twice.

"Pass it, Wilmington!" "Move your ass, Wilmington!"

He glanced up at JD for one split second but that was all that Tanner needed. He groaned as he felt the ball grabbed out of his hands by the younger man and nearly smacked JD as the kid laughingly ran after his teammate. "You're supposed to guard that sonabitch, Larabee!"

"How was I supposed to know you were frozen behind me!" Larabee yelled right back, shaking his head at the antics of the other team as they whooped and hollered for scoring the winning goal.

"It's okay, guys," JD piped up from behind them. "It was a good game."

Buck smiled as the kid tried out his peacekeeping skills. "Yeah, kid, you're right."

Tanner nodded, blue eyes mischievously twinkling. "Yeah, JD, it was a good game. Not too bad for a couple of dinosaurs."

"Dinosaurs?" Larabee echoed.

"Yeah, cowboy, you know, dinosaurs. Extinct. Really, really old?"

Buck snickered and JD clamped his hand over his own mouth at Chris' expression.

"Cowboy?" The general echoed Vin's words again, this time slowly stalking towards the younger man.

Vin had the audacity to murmur 'yeehaw' just loud enough for the general to hear before smartening up and running for it.

* * *

"Mmmmm, Cheetos."

Chris laughed as Nathan leaned over and shut Vin's mouth for him. He didn't need to look at the television to know that another commercial for some other junk food had just come on because Tanner would inevitably inform them of what it was.

Sure enough, seconds later, Vin murmured, "Mmmmm, hamburgers."

"Damnit, Junior! Stop that!" Buck punched Tanner in the leg none too gently.

"Hey!" Vin punched him right back. "Stop what?"

"That! That 'mmmm insert food here.' You're makin' me nuts."

"Too late for that, Buck."

The others laughed as Buck smacked Vin again, only to have the younger man hit him back before scooting closer to Chris and out of range.

Chris shook his head as Buck scowled at Vin, who was sticking his tongue out at the other man. "Children, behave."

"Yes, daddy," they chorused, sending JD into fits of giggles where he sat on the floor.

Chris exchanged long-suffering glances at Josiah and Nathan. But both of the other men hid their laughter behind their hands.

"I can't help it," Vin declared. "The food in here is shit."

Everyone nodded.

"I miss my mom's cooking," JD said quietly from the floor.

"Amen to that." Buck nodded, arms crossed defiantly across his chest, daring anyone else to make fun of his agreement. No one did. Instead, many of the other inmates in the recreational room nodded their heads too.

Dellwo, a member of the brotherhood at the Castle, mournfully sighed. "My mama made the best gumbo. Rice, and shrimp, and onions, and—"

"Stop it, Cueball," Vin moaned. "You're makin' me hungry."

"Payback's a bitch, ain't it, Junior?" Buck laughed as Vin glared.

"Chicken and dumplings," Chris suddenly said. "I miss chicken and dumplings on Sunday night."

Vin groaned again, hands cupping his stomach.

"Shepherd's pie," JD threw out. "My mom made this great shepherd's pie."

Josiah laughed. "My mama never made it, but I miss real Irish whiskey."

Many men cheered at that because honestly, Josiah's homemade pruno alcohol sucked.

"A perfectly seasoned, medium well steak and potatoes."

More than one person was surprised at Standish's words, but many nodded just the same.

Vin groaned. Again. "When I get out of here, I'm blowin' all of my money on food."

"Big surprise there," Nathan laughed.

"You can keep the food, Junior, I'm spendin' mine on the ladies." Hoots and hollers met Buck's words and many of the inmates punched knuckles with the man.

Chris laughed, relaxing back into his chair as the other inmates all piped up with what they wanted to do the second they were released.

* * *

"Morning, Chief."

"Good morning, Chief."

Chris smiled or nodded at each of the men he walked by, acknowledging the salutes. More and more of the men worked on the wall every day. Blacks, whites, Latinos ... they all worked it and, more importantly, got along while doing it. They also worked on it in all weather – rain or shine – the men were out there, working on their wall.

He smiled as JD literally bounced towards him. The work on the wall had transformed the kid. He still had a little trouble with his stutter, but for the most part it was gone. He was out of his shell, bad jokes and all. "Morning, JD."

"Morning, Chief!" He turned to stare at the mostly finished wall with pride. "She's a beauty, ain't she, sir?"

"She definitely is."

"Hey, JD!"

"Yeah, Buck?"

"Come take a look at this."

JD grinned widely, heading towards the bigger man but stopped when Chris grabbed his arm.

"JD, remember to leave a space for a porthole, okay? Every castle needs one."

JD grinned, snapping off a salute. "Yes, sir!" He ran off to join Buck, who was waiting patiently in the middle of the wall.

"Hey, hold up, guys!" Wilmington bellowed. "Hold up the work!" His cry was echoed up and down the line of workers. He glanced around, satisfied that all work had stopped and that no one other than the inmates were looking his way, before propping his left foot up on a wheelbarrow. Tugging up his pant's leg, the big man pulled a shiv from inside his sock. Flipping it in his hand, Buck held the handle out to JD, smiling at the kid's wide eyes. "Okay, kid, you're the first up."

JD took it, following Buck up to the wall.

Chris smiled as Buck patted one particularly big, flat-sided rock.

"Right here, kid. Go ahead. Put your name on it."

With a beaming smile, JD did just that.

* * *

Part Nine  


Winter stared down at the inmates working on the wall.

"The hand through the hair is their form of salute. Dunne started it."

Winter nodded at Morrow's report, mostly listening but eyes carefully studying the way each and every one of the inmates working the wall stopped whatever they were doing to greet the former general as he walked by.

"They address Larabee as 'Chief' instead of general. They also have substitutes for the other ranks as well. Anyone who was a captain is 'boss.' Sergeants are 'sports.' They're playing soldier, sir."

"Thank you, Morrow." He stared at the men working on the wall. "Hearts and minds."

"Sir?" Morrow leaned forward to hear over the laughing chatter of the inmates.

"He's building a structure of loyalty. He's offering them self-respect in exchange for their obedience. The general is building himself an army, gentlemen."

Morrow snorted. "He can have their hearts and minds, Colonel, as long as we've got them by the balls."

Winter chuckled. "Well said, Corporal. Well said." He watched out of the corner of his eye as Perez went through the formal motions of giving back Morrow his post. His movements were sharp and defined just as the academy had taught him.

"Perez."

"Yes, sir."

"Take down their names."

"Yes, sir."

"And, Perez?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Bring him to me."

"Who, sir?"

Winter threw an exasperated glare over his shoulder. "The Prince of Spain. Who do you think?"

"You mean General Larabee?"

"Prisoner Larabee."

* * *

Winter didn't look up when Perez announced the arrival of his guest. He didn't look up for quite some time, but not once did he get the impression that Larabee was fidgeting. He hated how much control the man had over himself. Finally putting the paperwork that he hadn't been working on away with a flourish, he smiled tightly at his visitor. "Mr. Larabee, when I first met you in this office, I asked you a question: what do you want from your time here at the castle. Has your answer changed?"

"No."

"So you say, and yet everything you've done here contradicts that." Winter stood, the chair scraping violently against the wood floor. "In case you've forgotten, those men down there are not here for unpaid parking tickets and library fines."

"I have no illusions about what these men have done," Larabee said quietly. "I just think they could occasionally be reminded of the best thing they did instead of only the worst."

Winter snorted with disgust. "That's the line my predecessor used. In his last two years here, there were seven escape attempts and twelve injury assaults on officers, including one death. In the ten years since I assumed command, there have been zero escape attempts, zero injury assaults, and zero officer fatalities. I don't have to justify my methods to you, do I, Mr. Larabee?"

Larabee stared at him. "I don't know. Do you?"

Winter hauled in a deep breath, letting the barb pass because he knew in a few moments, he'd win this little skirmish. "Well, this wall, that's been the source of so much turmoil and tension. In about two minutes, it will be no more."

* * *

Chris couldn't believe his ears. 'Turmoil and tension?' What turmoil? What tension? There had been absolutely no turmoil or tension in the yard these past months. Everyone who worked on the wall worked together and those who didn't left the others alone. Understanding suddenly slammed into him.

The warden couldn't stand the fact that the men were getting along. Winter couldn't stand the fact that he was no longer in control of the Castle inmates. That for once, they were doing something that they wanted to do instead of being forced to do.

Chris shook his head, eyes still staring at the epitome of bureaucratic tyranny. He knew that the other man was waiting for his outburst. Waiting to see him beg. Instead, he stared at the wall, knowing that Winter's actions were so utterly useless because they could rebuild the wall again and again.

* * *

Ezra smiled as his fellow inmates handed over his winnings. The smile faded as a loud rumbling filled the air. Turning this way and that, he saw that the other inmates had no idea what was going on either. Hell, even the guards looked confused. It wasn't until the huge doors of the Castle opened to reveal a bulldozer did things begin to make sense.

"Prisoners, step away from the wall."

Ezra cursed underneath his breath as the disembodied voice delivered its orders. He could hear the rumblings of discontent from the other inmates when they finally understood what was happening. Those sitting or working on the wall jumped down, hastily moving away. He turned slightly, carefully watching to see what Tanner, Wilmington, and the others would do. Jackson and Sanchez shook their heads and seemed resigned. Even from this distance he could see Wilmington was tense with anger. Tanner, as far as he could see, simply leaned against the wall. His long hair made it difficult to see his expression.

But it was Dunne who captured and held his attention. The damn fool kid was shaking his head, agitated and disbelieving. Ezra moved, knowing the kid was going to do something foolish. But it was too late.

JD ran, as fast as anyone had ever seen him move, towards the bulldozer that was nearly to the wall. He jerked to a stop between the wall and the gigantic machine. Legs firmly planted shoulder width apart, hands clenched at the small of his back, Dunne stared defiantly, not at the bulldozer, but at Winter's window.

"JD, get away from there," Ezra muttered under his breath, slowly moving towards him. He could see others, hear the others' urgings as well, inching their way towards JD just like him. Out and out defiance like that ... Winter wouldn't stand for it.

The horn sounded, everyone instinctively dropped. Everyone, that is, except JD.

"JD! Get down!" "Kid, get your ass on the ground now!"

He could the fear emanating from the men around him. He could hear them all yelling at JD to get down. But it all seemed so far away. As if they under water. The only thing that was real was the sound of the bullets thumping into JD's vulnerable flesh.

"Oh, fuck," Guard Niebolt croaked from somewhere left of him.

"Sir, permission to examine the prisoner, sir!"

"Jackson, go!"

"Oh, Jesus."

Ezra let his head drop to the ground, eyes and fists clenched tight.

* * *

He stared at his cell's ceiling, counting the cracks and dots, letting the anger, hatred, and guilt batter themselves around his soul. He released the anger and hatred, breath by breath. They were useless against an enemy so unscrupulous and zealous. But the guilt would remain because one such as Winter would not understand it.

No, what happened to Dunne today was his fault, but he would do right by the young man.

* * *

Vin stood, like the other prisoners, staring at what was once their wall. It lay in shambles now, much like when it was Winter's wall. And for once, the Yard was silent. No one worked on the wall, no one played hoops, no one moved or talked. Inmate deaths had become commonplace since Winter arrived, but with Dunne, the circumstances had been different. Because of the young man, and the general, the inmates had worked together, had come together with a common goal. It was almost as if Dunne had become their spirit.

Shuffling noises broke the silence and caught Vin's attention. He turned to watch the general making his way through the crowd before the pile of stones that use to be a castle. Their castle. He stared at the back of the man in whom they had placed their hopes.

"Mr. Sanchez?"

"Yes, sir." Josiah, who stood mere feet away from both of them with the rest of the crowd, stepped forward. His body assumed the full attention stance out of habit.

"You're a sergeant major, right?"

"I was."

Vin exchanged bewildered glances with Buck and Nathan.

* * *

Josiah nodded as Chris gave him his orders. He was ... pleasantly surprised. He climbed the piles of rock and found a steady perch. Remembering his training, which he hadn't used in nearly a decade, he followed his orders.

"Prisoners! Fall in!"

He could see the startled glances thrown his way.

"I said, fall in!"

More startled glances, but some of the men started moving. It was obvious many were trying to remember what the hell "fall in" entailed.

"Come on, ladies, hustle, hustle! Get your asses in line!"

He bit back the smile as more and more of the prisoners did exactly as they were told. Damnit, he still had it.

* * *

McClaren stared at the prisoners, stared at how readily they fell into formation at Sanchez's words. He forgot sometimes, that they used to be fellow soldiers, trained just as he had been. But as they raised their arms to distance themselves properly from each other and stood at attention, he could see the soldiers they used to be. Even Tanner, whose long hair and slouch, had marked him as anything but military for the longest time.

"Well, hell," Morrow muttered, "the scumbags are running the asylum now."

McClaren let his shoulders raise and drop in a shrug. "Maybe," he said, before moving away from another of Winter's sharpshooters.

* * *

Chris waited until all but one man stood in formation before nodding at Nathan. He barely glanced at Standish, but knew he would hear everything from his usual post by the metal staircase. He nodded his thanks as Nathan dropped JD's dog tags into his hand. He clenched his fist, the rubber dampened the bite of the metal, but he could still feel the solidity of the tags. He climbed up the rubble, nodding at Josiah as the older man moved over for him.

He breathed deeply, once again letting the anger and hatred leave his body, breath by breath. "Some might think to be remembered in this way would be a disgrace to a soldier, but there is no disgrace in this. The greatest monuments to fallen men are not made of marble. They're deep in the sea, deep in jungles, or on foreign battlefields – a rifle driven into the ground, a helmet perched on top, and some tags."

He gripped the tags one more, before letting them dangle from the chain. "And this is the kind of tribute this man has earned. Gentlemen, Private First Class John Dunne, United States Marine Corps."

He knelt, letting the tags hang for a second longer, before dropping them into the wall. He froze in surprise, before standing again, as several of the men began to quietly sing the Marines' hymn. He didn't sing along, instead, he stared directly into Winter's window, knowing in his heart, this was the turning point.

* * *

Part Ten  


Winter glared directly at the once general before sweeping angry eyes over the three hundred prisoners all lined up before Larabee and his wall. "A martyr. He's made the stuttering monkey into a damn martyr."

Beside him, Perez didn't say a word, but he could see that his second in command did not hold the same contempt that he did. Perhaps it was time to promote Morrow. "Sound the dinner horn."

Perez reluctantly tore his eyes from the Yard, glancing at his watch. "But, sir, it's not for another ten—"

"Sound the damn horn!"

"Yes, sir."

He didn't bother glaring at Perez; instead, he stared down into the Yard with satisfaction as the horn cut through the prisoner's singing. His smugness slipped as Sanchez calmly stood straight once more, calling out, "Present arms!"

He could feel the growl from his own chest as three hundred prisoners ran their fingers through their hair, saluting Dunne as the monkey had for Larabee.

* * *

Chris watched Vin stare at the chessboard, a hint of a smile crossing his lips as the younger man tried to figure out how to apply the rules of chess to his pieces. Finally Vin sighed. "You sure you don't want to play checkers?"

Chris chuckled, letting the laughter flow through him, replacing the negative emotions. It was a sign of resilience on his part. And, as Josiah said, a coping mechanism. "You're doing fine."

"And why aren't you playin' with Josiah, again?"

Chris let his shoulders rise and fall. "I wanted to play with you." He smothered a smile as Vin froze.

Just as quickly, the younger man lazed back into a familiar sprawl, asking, "So why me?"

He shrugged again. "I've played with Josiah enough to know all of his moves. It gets boring." Chris walked a knight to a new position. "You're a new player and you look at things differently." He let the smile loose. "Instinctively."

"You mean I don't play by the rules," Vin laughed.

"No, you just interpret them differently."

Vin nodded, smiling. "Yeah, I get that."

They both turned as several heavy footsteps sounded in the sudden silence of the Tiers. Winter cautiously entered the cell, smiling that fake benign smile of his. "If you'll excuse us, Mister—"

"Tanner," Perez supplied.

"Mr. Tanner," Winter parroted.

Chris bit back the smile as Vin turned his back to the colonel, rolling his eyes as he stood.

"Chief?"

He bobbed his head at the unspoken, but loudly heard, request for dismissal by the other man. Vin straightened into the traditional saluting stance, but ran his fingers through his long hair, before disappearing into the Tiers.

Chris sensed more than saw Winter's glare because he was scanning the colonel's entourage. Perez, McClaren, and a few others, but no Morrow.

"These salutes ... I've given them some thought. If the inmates could confine themselves to a simple hand motion through the hair, I don't see any problem." Winter looked uncomfortable. Chris thought he rather looked like a bloated blowfish, but maybe that was his imagination. "It's not technically a salute, and as long as no one on the US Disciplinary Board knows about it, we can live with it, right?"

Larabee let his eyes wander over the multitude of soldiers outside his cell. What? Did Winter think he was going to attack him? Or did he always travel with more bodyguards than a rock star? Chris let the silence lengthen, letting his thoughts wander where they willed as Winter squirmed once more.

"Well, okay then."

"No."

"What?"

"Not okay." He pushed himself up, but only into a fully seated position. No use in riling up the bodyguards. "It's too late, Colonel."

"For what?" Winter really didn't understand.

Chris shook his head, mentally rolling his eyes. "For your offer. They don't want better food. They don't want more TV time. They don't even want out of here. All the men want is your resignation." He delivered the last blow with no expression on his face, save for the icy glint in his eyes. "They want you gone."

"My resignation," Winter parroted, eyes looking towards his men as if asking for confirmation.

General Larabee dropped the icy mask, letting all of his hatred, anger, and disgust infuse his eyes. "You're a disgrace to the uniform. You abuse it."

"Then I better go pack." Winter chuckled with the words.

Chris leaned back, hands folded neatly on top of his stomach. "I think you should." He watched as Winter's hands clenched and unclenched. As his eyes darted to and fro, seeking a comeback. He reminded Chris of bullies who finally got put in their place.

"What's to stop me from putting you in the hole, for say, six months."

He nearly laughed. "Nothing. If that's how you want to win."

* * *

He was still wondering who the hell would be here to see him. After all, he had told everyone, _everyone_, under no condition were they to come see him. He didn't want his family to see him here. Like this. And since his father was healthy as a horse, it couldn't be bad news on that front. He stared at the dark haired man standing near the windows. "Lieutenant Chanu?"

"General!" The brilliant young Navajo Indian who had tried to get him to plead innocent smiled with welcome, coming forward with his hand outstretched. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." Chris shook his hand, but stared at the other man. "Why exactly are you here?"

It was Chanu's turn to look confused. "They didn't tell you, sir?"

"Tell me what?" Chris bit out the words, knowing what was coming next was Winter's first move.

"General Larabee, you're getting released."

It was a hell of a first move.

* * *


	3. The Castle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you and huge big hugs to both Phyllis and Karen. They both held my hand and got me through this monstrous story. Thank you to Adrianna, my bestest friend, who checked the military aspect of the story as best she could while helping the victims of Hurricane Katrina with the rest of her unit. I'd also like to thank the B team and the wip-it-good challenge. Without them, this story would have never been finished because it took the threat of public humiliation for me to write this story. The challenge made me finish the story, but Phyllis, Karen, and my teammates were the reason I remained semi-sane. Thank you to all of you.

Part Eleven   


"It's called 'compassionate release,'" Nathan explained, hunching over his food, pushing it around really. "They're saying he has health problems—"

Buck snorted. "That's bullshit."

"I'm just saying what they're saying." He rolled his eyes at Buck's snort, but sobered. "He gets out tomorrow."

"Kill the head and the body shall die." Heads turned at Josiah's deep voice.

"What?"

"It's an old line, Buck. It means—"

"I know what it means, Preacher, but it's bullshit. They remove this head and this body is just gonna get stronger. We're gonna go apeshit on this place." People jumped when his fist slammed into the table.

"No, we're not," Vin disagreed quietly.

"Like fuck we're not."

"Who's gonna lead us, huh?" The normally quiet man leaned into Wilmington's space. "Who else are the others," he swept his arm out, encompassing the other inmates, "gonna listen to except Chris?"

"I don't know ... me."

Three sets of eyebrows went up at that.

Buck huffed. "Hell, I don't care. Tanner, you do it."

"Not me." Vin's hair flew about his head as he nearly panicked at the thought.

"Face it," Nathan sighed. "It's over."

* * *

"Ah, General, it seems I haven't given you enough credit."

He didn't bother to lift his head. Only one man in the Castle had an accent that made even the worst insult sound like poetry.

"Less than nine months served and you're being released." Standish leaned fully onto the bars, hands wrapped around the steel. "Tell me, sir, did you plan this? I bet you did. From the moment you met Winter, you knew what kind of man he was. That he wouldn't tolerate the inmates respecting one of their own instead of him. And you just kept at him. First with Dunne and his salutes, then the other men and the wall. But it was asking for his resignation that really broke his back. Brilliant, sir, absolutely brilliant."

"Standish! Back to your cell!"

He knew Standish was ignoring McClaren because he could still feel his eyes boring into him through the darkness.

"Goddamnit it, Standish, don't make me come down there."

"I am moving, Sergeant, one foot in front of the other," he yelled back. "Absolutely brilliant, General, but who will the men turn to now?"

* * *

His departure from the castle was the antithesis of his arrival. Lieutenant Chanu was beaming from ear to ear. The man had argued long and hard, trying to get him to change his plea from guilty to innocent. The news vans were lined up end to end after being conspicuously absent when he had arrived here. And Winter himself was at the inner fence, once again smiling that fake smile of his. With a touch of smugness thrown in. His fingers itched.

"Mr. Larabee, I'm going to say to you what I say to everyone who leaves this facility ... "

Chris tuned out the pompous idiot and turned, seeing Perez, McClaren, and Niebolt, but only long enough to register their presence. What caught his attention were the library windows. Bodies were pressed against the floor to ceiling windows, but he could make out Tanner, Sanchez, Wilmington, Jackson, and Standish. Tanner and the others were saluting. All except for Standish.

They suddenly dropped the salutes. Chris turned to see Winter also staring at the windows. He sighed, turning back to Winter and the rest of his long winded discourse.

" ... and I hope that you can live in such a way that you never have to see the inside of a place like this again." At last coming to an end, Winter stuck his hand out.

Chris eyed it, but didn't take it. "Colonel, I have a question."

"Of course." Winter dropped his hand, but not his smug little smile.

"Did you really think you could get rid of me that easily?" His roundhouse punch dropped Winter like a sack of potatoes. He had one satisfying look at Winter's shocked and bloody face before he dropped under the weight of the soldiers' batons.

* * *

Even the media outside had to have heard the inmate's roar of approval as Winter went down with one smooth arc of General Larabee's arm. In the library, the cries had been deafening.

"Fuckin' hell!" Vin hissed, staring down as the soldiers carried Larabee back into the Castle.

"I can't fuckin' believe he did that!" Buck whooped, slapping Josiah on the back hard enough to make the big man stumble.

"He's gonna be in pain after that beating," Nathan mused, barely audible amongst the cheering of the other inmates.

Josiah grinned. "Not to worry, Nate, I've got meal duty. I'll make sure to add a little something for the general."

Nathan winced, but nodded his approval.

* * *

"Meal!"

He didn't really want to move. Really, he didn't. The aches and pain of this beating took a harder toll than the rock and roll detail and the preceding put down by the guards combined. He wondered if it was because he punched a colonel or because he punched the Colonel. If he'd been a betting man, Chris would have chosen the second one.

"Meal!"

He grunted, smothering the much louder, and more heartfelt groan, as he shifted up and forward enough to grab the tray being slid into his solitary cell.

"You have three minutes to eat your meal."

He rolled at Josiah's booming voice as he called out the time. Three minutes to eat his meal. Maybe this was Winter's next move? Death by choking? Settling the tray on the bed allowed the light and shadows to illuminate a suspicious lump under the napkin. Gingerly pulling it up, Chris saw a Ziploc baggy filled with a murky liquid. "Josiah?"

"Oh good, you found it."

He had to lean forward to hear Josiah's whispered words. He picked up the bag, tilting it into the light. It was ... orange ... and simply nasty looking. Opening it up, Chris didn't even need to get close to smell the fumes. They made his eyes water. "What in God's name is it?"

"Pruno. Original recipe. I thought you might be in some pain. It'll take the edge right off. Just don't get any on your skin."

"Wait a minute. You want me to drink something that I shouldn't let touch my skin?"

Josiah's cough covered up his unexpected laughter. "Two minutes and thirty seconds," he called out loudly. Much more softly, he answered, "Just drink it. Nate approved it."

Shrugging his shoulder, Chris put it to the side. If Nathan said it was okay ... "What are you doing here?"

"Funny you should ask that, sir. A few of us were wondering what in the hell you're doing back here."

He felt cynical laughter well up inside. "Hell if I know, Josiah. Hell if I know."

"JD?"

Chris shrugged again, not really caring that the other man couldn't see it. "I feel guilty."

"For what? There's only one man responsible for that and it's not you." Chris was surprised at the vehemence in Josiah's voice. "You are, however, responsible for making him feel like a solider again." He sighed. "As it happens, I know several hundred other men who would like nothing more than to feel like soldiers again themselves."

"To what end?"

"Two minutes!" Josiah yelled, then hissed, "You know what end! Unless you don't think it's possible."

He slumped back, the wall was cold and soothing to the bruises there. "It's possible."

"The men are waiting, General. Just give the word."

His head dropped, eyes staring at his clenched hands. Sucking in a deep breath, Chris slowly let it out. "Has General Travis paid a visit yet?"

"No. One minute!"

"He will. Probably tomorrow. Which means you'll have to move quickly."

He heard the grin in Josiah's "Yes, sir."

* * *

Part Twelve  


"It was on all the news shows, Ed!" Travis stood with his back to the colonel, but words seemed to bounce off the window and went straight for their target. "The photos were hazy, but it's pretty damn clear that Christopher Larabee decked you!"

"It was really more of a slap, sir—"

Travis guffawed. "That was a helluva slap! You landed on your ass, Colonel." The older, but shorter man finally turned. "Now, what in God's name is going on here?"

"I don't know, sir." Winter stepped back as Travis circled the room, stopping here and there to look at his collection. "I'm not a doctor. Two weeks ago, I observed him marching a man back and forth in the Yard. A minor eccentricity. That was fine. But since then, it's as if he's been recruiting a following. It's almost as if in some way, he believes he's still in the field, commanding a division, sir."

"Are you saying he's delusional?" Travis shook his head, disbelief clearly written over his entire demeanor.

"I'm just telling you what I've seen. I'll be honest, General, when I requested compassionate release on medical grounds, this was my true concern. His mental state. I don't know that this is the right place for him." He held himself as still as possible as Travis stopped again in front of the window and stood stock-still. The silence dragged on during the very loud ticks of the wall clock.

"I had better talk to him. Alone. And not through any plexiglass wall either."

"Of course, sir."

* * *

It could have been out of habit that he stood at attention when General Travis walked in, but it was out of respect that he did. After all, Travis was the one who pinned the star on his shoulders and had mentored him throughout his military career. "Sir."

"Chris, it's—" Travis turned a raised eyebrow when Niebolt cleared his throat. "Yes, Private?"

"I need to go over the rules of your visit, sir."

Travis rolled his eyes but motioned for the young man to start.

"Uh, yes, General Travis, this is a contact visit. You are limited to one embrace at the beginning and one at the end. Hands must be visible at all times."

"Well, hell, I guess that rules out the handjob I was going to ask for."

Travis ruthlessly fought the snicker that threatened to escape at Chris' droll words. McClaren had to clear his throat several times. Niebolt blinked. A lot.

Clearing his throat, Travis waved the two guards away. "I think I can take it from here, gentlemen." He turned to fully face his fellow general, motioning to one of the tables. He seated himself; old, experienced, but still eagle eyed, he studied his friend. "You look well."

Chris snorted. "You were never a good liar to your friends, sir."

Travis grinned, but sobered. "I apologize for not calling you during the trial."

Chris shrugged it off, not wanting to think about it, but a smile was surprised out of him when the older man said, "Hell, I just didn't want anyone to know I knew you." He laughed, remembering why the gruff old man had always been his favorite commander.

"You did the right thing, Chris, going back for your men."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but you're not here to talk about that."

Travis sighed. "You're right. I'm here to see if you've lost your mind."

* * *

Sylvia Newman, secretary for Colonel Winters since before he received this post, sighed as she went through the mail for the day. There were several letters for the guards, of course, as well as the usual junk mail. But one letter caught her attention. It was addressed to Colonel Winters, but what stopped her was the line "Personal and Confidential, Must be Read by Twelve o'clock Noon."

She glanced at the clock; it was nearly eleven fifty-five.

* * *

"You want to know if I've lost my mind?" Chris snorted. "I punched a commandant of the USDB ten feet from freedom, what do you think?"

Travis shook his head, but the grin was still there. "I think Colonel Edwin Winter is a royal pain in the ass and you'd be hard pressed to find anyone who's ever worked with him who doesn't want to shake your hand right now."

* * *

Winter glanced at the clock. Eleven fifty-eight. Shrugging, he slit the envelope opened, pulling out the sheet of paper within.

WE ARE IN POSITION TO TAKE TRAVIS. IF YOU DO NOT GO TO THE VISITOR'S CENTER AND RESIGN TO HIM BY 12:10 PM, HE WILL BECOME OUR PRISONER.

"Perez!"

* * *

Part Thirteen  


"He's more than just a pain in the ass, Orrin."

"Chris, I don't like him, you don't like him, and no one back in D.C. likes him. But he's getting the job done. As far as the Pentagon is concerned, he's untouchable."

"A murderer is untouchable?"

"They're saying that it was some mix up in the handling of the ammunition."

Chris scoffed. "Four times in two years? Hell of a mix up."

Travis sighed. "It's suspicious, I know, but unless there's proof, there's nothing I can do, Chris. Do you have anything?"

He shook his head, sighing as well. "No, I don't. But you could investigate more fully."

"Chris," Travis grabbed the younger man's arm, shaking it just a bit, "I could, but I'm not going to because frankly, I don't care. What I care about is you. I want you out of here. Away from these convicted killers and drug dealers."

"I belong here, Orrin."

"Bullshit!" The older man slashed a hand through the air as if pushing aside said bullshit. "You were a goddamn scapegoat. If we could have hushed up the whole thing, you would have never been sent here. You're a good soldier, a good man. You don't belong here."

* * *

Winter stood at the window, binoculars sweeping over the Yard, at the inmates who didn't act out of the ordinary at all.

"All teams, this is a full alert and confidence is high."

* * *

Twenty soldiers positioned themselves outside the gate, gas masks, batons, and shields at the ready.

"White Team set," their leader responded.

* * *

Another twenty soldiers squatted out of sight by the doors of the Yard, also ready with full riot gear.

"Blue Team Set."

* * *

The Red Team silently crouched-walked their way to positions outside the doors to the Visitor's center. Using a tiny periscope, the team leader watched as Travis and Larabee stood, shaking hands, noting the positions of the men in the room.

"Red set," he whispered.

* * *

"Sir, I don't see any indication of a situation."

"Of course not, Perez." Winter continued to scan the men. "He'll keep it hidden until the last possible second. This is how it begins, Lieutenant. In all the books, about all the battles, this is how it always begins. In silence."

Perez nodded, keeping his doubts to himself. He flinched as Winter grabbed his arm.

"There! There it is! Send the teams in!"

He didn't see anything, but he followed his orders. "Red go!"

* * *

"—all I'm saying is keep your head down and you'll be out of here by next Christmas. Take up a hobby or—"

**"DOWN! DOWN! ON THE FLOOR! NOW!"**

"What the hell!" Travis yelled as the soldiers pulled him down to the ground. The room was swarming with them, all yelling and pointing their weapons at a hapless Chris Larabee. He watched stunned, as Chris dropped to the floor, hands behind his neck. "What the hell are you doing? Let me go!" He fought the hands that dragged him from the room.

* * *

Ezra immediately dropped as the alarm sounded. Watched as most of the others did the same. The Tier doors burst opened releasing a flood of soldiers that surrounded the men, pushing and shoving those still standing into the middle of the Yard. Herding them like cattle.

He watched with stunned eyes as the metal gates creaked opened. The goliath mass shadowed in the doorway made him curse and inch his way closer to the wall. The tank rolled into the Yard, surrounded by soldiers armed with batons and shields. Gas grenades were going off in every direction. Men were yelling, running. But they were lifted off their feet and flung for meters by the high-pressure water cannon. The soldiers surrounding the tank wailed upon the prisoners too close for the water cannon to take out.

Over the yells and screams and water, Ezra turned, instinctively latching onto a very familiar sound. The Apache helicopter whirled above their heads; a sniper was strapped in its open bay, firing on any of the inmates foolish enough to run for cover.

* * *

"You thought he was going to try to take me hostage? Are you serious?"

Winter winced as Travis yelled right into his face. The older man was positively livid. "We had a note to that effect, sir. Apparently, it was just a hoax."

"And you didn't consider that before you had your men drag me out of there? I almost had a fucking heart attack!"

It was almost unheard of for the three-star general to curse. It was just a barometer of how seriously Winter had humiliated him. And it was all Larabee's fault. "It was an overreaction on my part, sir."

"Overreaction? I'm starting to think that maybe you're the one who's delusional, Colonel."

He gritted his teeth. "Yes, sir," he forced out, "I can see how you might think that."

Travis glared, stepping even closer into his personal space. "If I hear of one more incident," he hissed, "of a man dying here, you're through. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"As for Christopher Larabee, it is my judgment that he is as sane as you or I. I wish he wasn't, but he is. He hit you because he thinks you're an ass, not because he's losing his mind." Travis straightened his cuffs, brushing off imaginary lint. "Frankly, I'd like nothing better than to have an excuse to get him out of here. But the only way that's going to happen now is if you request it. You tell me you can't handle him, and he's gone."

Winter gritted his teeth once more, he could feel the pain radiating from his jaw to the back of his head. "No, sir. Upon further reflection, this is ... exactly where he should be."

Travis grunted, but looked far from convinced. "Then you watch yourself, Colonel. I will be watching."

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir."

"Get me that list."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Part Fourteen  


The colonel raked his eyes over the inmates, making sure that the doors to the cells were firmly closed. He glanced at the file again, but had already memorized what he wanted to say to the prisoners.

"Lieutenant General Christopher Larabee disregarding direct orders from his commander-in-chief — that's the President for you men who don't know — took a platoon of men into Burundi to extract hostages which reliable intel reported as dead. Eight men from the platoon were captured and executed by the warlord, Jackson Neuwee, who controlled the area." He paused, catching his breath and letting the men mull over what he had read from the official report.

"Eight men died because of his decision. A decision he made disregarding direct orders and reliable intelligence. What I want you men to understand is what the consequences can be when you choose to follow a man who is motivated solely by his pride. A man who will do anything to have one more victory. One more notch on his belt, no matter the cost, before he fades away." Winter handed the file to Perez, nodding at his second in command.

"Start the extractions," Perez ordered into his radio.

Inmates all pulled away from their cell doors as soldiers streamed into the Tiers. Many were yelling for the inmates to step away from the doors, others were ordering their men into position. Wide eyes watched as several distinct groups made their way to different parts of the Tiers. To very specific destinations.

* * *

"Get the fuck off me!" Vin growled, struggling against the hands that manhandled him. The raised baton forced him to stop as they dragged him from his cell. He winced as they none too gently clapped steel cuffs on his wrists.

* * *

"C'mon, Doc."

Nathan sighed resignedly, but gamely stood up. He jerked away from the guard's hand, only to be pushed into two more waiting guards. "Stop manhandling me. I'm going, I'm going!"

* * *

"Let's go, Duffy!"

"I ain't done nothing!" He yelled, scrambling away from the soldiers and up onto his bed.

"Let's go! Get down here you, inbred redneck!"

"Fuck you!" He lashed out, grinning savagely as his foot connected with the bastard's head. Launching himself at the other guards, he bellowed in rage. He soon regretted his actions as batons, fists, and booted feet fell on him from all directions. "Surrender! I surrender! Stop, please!"

* * *

"Time to go, Preacher."

Josiah nearly laughed as the guards eyed him warily. It seems they really did think he was the Castle's own Hannibal Lector. Let one little comment about eating brains drop and a man was labeled for life. He gamely rose to his feet, following the guards out of his block and down the stairs. He winced as he saw guards yanking Thumper so hard from his cell that the big black man slammed into the railing. From his suddenly ashen face, Thumper's solar plexus had landed against it, knocking the wind from the man.

* * *

Buck grinned ferally at the guards standing outside his cell. Of the others, only his escort wore body armor and protective facemasks.

"Command, open Cell 184."

"That's right, open up. Let me out of here," he said calmly, smile widening at the fear he could smell coming from them. They clutched their batons even tighter; probably wishing they had something with a little more kick to it. The alarm sounded and the door slid open. He stepped through, throwing the towel he'd been using on his still partially wet chest, down on his bunk. "Relax, ladies."

His words made them step back and clutch their batons again. He laughed, shaking his head. "Damn you're pitiful."

* * *

Ezra couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe that the idiots were still fighting Winter's guards as they were pulled from their cells. It was obvious who Winter was extracting from the Tiers and why. It was Larabee's core support. Tanner, Wilmington, Sanchez, Jackson were the main lieutenants for the general, but Thumper and Duffy were pulled from their cells, too. He winced as he watched Wilmington landed a particularly spectacular punch to a guard that had pushed him before five others jumped on him.

He sought out the ringleader, and consequently the only person not being dragged from his cell. He was gratified to see the horror and anger on Larabee's face. But there was something there. Something more that made him shiver. Winter may have the advantage, but he really was underestimating Larabee.

* * *

Chris could feel eyes follow his every move. The scrutiny came from all directions. Not only the soldiers who were under orders to watch him, but from the prisoners as well. They all watched him for the same reason: to see what he'd do now that his support had been torn from him. But only one set of eyes held any interest for the general.

Standish sat at the next table, facing him. The gambler made absolutely no pretense of not watching him. The green eyes were unreadable from this distance, but Chris already knew what he'd see there: scorn.

But it was what lurked behind those eyes that gave him hope. Because whether or not Standish knew it, he radiated anticipation with every movement, every word. It was as if he expected Larabee and the others to fail, but hoped that they wouldn't.

* * *

He threw the fork down in disgust as those Winter extracted weeks before slowly sank down to eat lunch with the man who had gotten them into trouble in the first place. Ezra didn't understand them and didn't want to.

* * *

Chris smiled at each of the other men, silently asking how they were. Most of them nodded, Duffy more stiffly than the others. He knew that in the next few hours, pain medication would mysteriously show up in their cells.

Buck grinned at him. "What now?"

He grinned back.

* * *

Part Fifteen  


Eyes were on him again, only this time it was only one pair. Chris gently placed the weights he was working with on the ground before lifting his head. Standish stood mere feet away.

"So you really did bluff Winter. The only problem was that his flush beat your straight."

"I don't play poker, Mr. Standish," Chris answered with a smile. "I play chess. And in chess," smiled in welcome as his friends joined them, "when you play with someone long enough you come to realize their first three moves are always the same. Right, Josiah?"

"Yes, they are."

Ezra turned towards Josiah, consequently giving himself space to escape the men surrounding him. "Chess, you say? And pray tell, what was his first move?"

Chris watched the other man move away, but didn't call him on it. Instead he turned to Vin. "His first move?"

"Three teams," the Texan answered. "Twenty apiece. His inside teams only have batons."

Chris nodded. "His second move?"

"Water cannon," Buck announced.

"Third?"

"Chopper," Nathan answered. "It came in from the east."

"What kind of chopper?"

"Sir?"

Chris turned to Thumper, brow furrowing in question.

"Sir, should we be talkin' about this with him here?" The big man jerked his thumb at Standish.

"Yeah, you know he can't be trusted, right, sir?" Buck added, now glaring at someone he obviously didn't think belonged there.

Chris shrugged. "No, I don't know that."

The shrug must have set him off, because Standish's poker face slipped. "Is that how you use the burden of command? You turn men into chess pieces?"

"Yes."

"Hey, Standish, why don't you do yourself a favor and run along," Buck warned with a none-too-gentle nudge.

Standish sneered, pointing at them. "Pawns."

* * *

"That prisoner," Winter asked, eyes barely leaving the figure in question, "the one walking away. Who is that?"

Perez glanced to where his commander was pointing. "Uh, oh. That's Standish. He was an Apache pilot but now he's a lowlife. A hustler. He takes bets."

"On what?"

"Anything," Perez sneered, rolling his eyes. "Fights, the weather. He even took bets on whether or not Larabee was going to kill himself."

"I see."

* * *

Ezra held himself as still as possible after placing his bag on the floor. He knew this game that Winter always unwittingly played with his visitors. Especially if they were prisoners. The man would sit there and ignore them, taking his dear sweet time doing whatever it was that he was doing, before acknowledging their presence. The man liked nothing better than to watch others squirm. That's why Ezra was doing his impersonation of a statue. He was not going to give the jackass that hurt JD the satisfaction.

Winter finally dusted the crumbs of his sandwich off his hands and read from the files before him. "'This highly intelligent officer seems to have no moral grounding whatsoever.' Is that so?"

"It seems to be what better men than I seem to think."

He must have surprised Winter with his manner of speech. Obviously the man expected him to some kind of uneducated cretin. He smiled inwardly.

"Why are you here, Standish? I want your version."

His version? Mentally rolling his eyes, Ezra answered with what was in his file. "I was involved with several of my subordinates in a smuggling operation from Juarez to El Paso."

"It says here you wore a wire on your own men. Is that correct?"

"When I found out what they were smuggling, yes."

He gritted his teeth as Winter waved his protest aside as if it was nothing. "So you found out they were smuggling in drugs instead of Cuban cigars? How highly moral of you."

Only his habitual poker face saved him from revealing too much. He ignored the pompous ass, but could quite shake the faces of the women and children he had found huddled in the back of that U-Haul truck so long ago.

"How many years did they take off your sentence for that?"

Ezra blinked the faces away. "Four years."

"And now you're the prison bookie. Tell me, Standish, how does a man like you get into West Point?"

He mentally rolled his eyes again. Winter really didn't know anything about the prisoners he was supposed to be watching over, did he? "My father was the winner of the Congressional Medal of Honor, and my stepfather was on the board of regents for West Point."

"Oh, right." Winter seemed stunned by it. "Well, sometimes the apple does fall far, far, far from the tree."

Perez laughed, not seeing the glare Ezra sent his way. 'Not always,' Ezra thought, memories of his father rolling through his mind's eye.

"You're father was a POW with Mr. Larabee was he not? Yet you don't seem to have join his little—"

"Crusade, sir?" Ezra oh-so-helpfully supplied.

Winter nodded. "Yes, his little crusade. Why is that?"

Ezra let his shoulders rise and fall. "It is not my fight."

Winter nodded again as he perused his file again. "It says here that you have three years left with us. Is that true?"

"Indubitably."

"How does three months sound?"

It was Ezra's turn to stare in silence. A part of him knew this was coming, knew that Winter would single him out as a snitch in exchange for something but wasn't expecting early release.

"I need to resolve this situation quickly before someone else gets hurt ... or even killed. Do you agree?"

"Of course," Ezra choked out.

Winter smiled in satisfaction, because obviously, Ezra agreed with him. "And the best way for me to do that is with information. You might want to rethink joining Mr. Larabee's crusade."

"Just to be clear, sir. Are you asking me to be a turncoat, sir?" He injected as much disbelief into his voice as he was able.

Winter smirked. "Isn't it a little late in the game to be self-righteous?"

* * *

Buck sighed. Meatloaf. Again. At least he wouldn't really have to eat it. Of course, if Duffy didn't stop his whining, he wouldn't be pulling any punches tonight.

"Dude, why do I have to get my ass kicked?" The larger man shuffled forward, grabbing some lime green jello from the inmate behind the lunch counter.

"Duffy, shut up," he hissed. "How many times are you gonna ask that? Stop your sniveling. I'm only gonna hit you once."

"Well, when?"

Buck rolled his eyes. "Now." His fist made the most satisfying crack against the bigger man's jaw. It, of course, didn't do much damage, but it surprised Duffy enough for Buck to push him into the inmates behind them.

"Hey! Stop!"

"Yeah! Fight! Fight!"

"Rogers, grab Wilmington!"

"Not by myself!"

"Go Duffy!"

Chris shook his head at the cocky grin Buck sent him over the shoulder of the guards pulling both him and Duffy out of the lunchroom. Just as they planned, having two such huge men fighting took all of the guards out of the room. He returned the nod Nathan gave him from his post by the doors. "Josiah."

The big man slipped his thumb and middle fingers into his mouth. The resulting whistle pierced through the jabbering and cheering of the prisoners. "All right, ladies, sit your asses down! C'mon, sit down! The general has something to say!"

He waited until all of the inmates were seated and silent. Josiah nodded at him and stepped back, giving him the floor.

He remained standing, knowing that Josiah and Vin had taken flanking positions on either side, and took a deep breath. "We can no longer wear the uniform of a soldier, we forfeited that right and that includes me." He stared at them, eyes straightforward and honest. "I disobeyed an executive order, I violated my duties as a commanding officer and eight men died. It's not an easy mistake to live with. So here I am, just like you, a convicted criminal." The ends of his lips kicked up in a self-mocking smile. "Only difference between you and me is that I know I'm guilty."

The men laughed at that, many clapping and cheering.

"So we're packed away here as prisoners and one thing is certain: our captors have the power. They can try to humiliate us, they can beat us, they can lock us away in a dark hole for days on end." He nodded as many of the men murmured their dissent with Winter's treatment of them. "But there's one thing they cannot do: they cannot take from us who we are. And we are soldiers."

"Yeah."

"That's right."

"And that is the one thing — the one thing — that gives us a chance in here. " Chris smiled as the inmates responded well to his speech. It seemed like it hadn't been until landing in prison that he ever gave a speech. Slipping his hand into his shirt pocket he drew out the research Josiah had done for him. "The United States Uniform Code of Military Justice states that there are seven grounds for the removal of a stockade or disciplinary barracks commandant."

That definitely got the men's attention. They all shifted forward, eager to hear them.

"Item one: Dereliction of duty. Item two: Criminal malfeasance. Item three: Noncompliance with procedural rules. Item four: making false official statements." As expected, none of these four got any kind of reaction because, truthfully, Winter didn't do anything of these things. "Item five: Conduct unbecoming of an officer and a gentleman." That got a reaction as men who had been officers all nodded and murmured to each other. "Item six: Cruelty or maltreatment of persons under his command." The men roared at that one causing Chris to hold up his hand. Silence descended once more. "Item seven: Command failure resulting in lose of control of a facility."

He watched as understanding dawned in the men's eyes.

"Gentlemen, I think we should seize control of this facility."

* * *

"Take a look at a castle, any castle, then break down the key elements that make it a castle," Chris said, eyes touching each one of the men packed into his cell. They were his lieutenants, his core support. They would also be the ones in charge of the specialized platoons. The only one who even remotely looked like they knew what he was talking about was Josiah. "One: location. A site on high ground that commands the territory for as far as the eye can see. Two: protection. Big walls, walls strong enough to withstand a full frontal attack. Three: a garrison. Men who are trained and willing to kill. And four: a flag."

They were all nodding now, understanding coming with the help of visual aids ... his chess pieces. He used them as a mock up of the yard, the admin building, the towers that surrounded the yard, and the flagpole. "The only difference between other castles and this one, is that they were built to keep people out, this one was built to keep people in."

The men laughed, nodding.

"But it's still a castle and any castle can be taken whether in the fourteenth century or the twentieth."

"With a nuclear arsenal?" Vin hazarded a guess, chuckling as he dodged Buck and Josiah's hands.

Chris rolled his eyes, ignoring their antics. "To succeed in a castle war, you have to overcome the garrison, take the high ground, and ultimately capture the flag." He studied the crude layout. "We're going to need a command post."

Vin plucked up a king, placing it to the side of the Yard. "The wall."

"It's fitting," Nathan agreed with a sad smile.

Everyone nodded.

"All right, phase one: neutralize Winter's guards." Chris pointed to the row of knights sitting in front of the admin building. Everyone nodded knowing that would fall under the foot soldiers' sphere. "Phase two: the towers."

"We control the towers, we control the Yard," Josiah added.

"That's right." Chris picked up one of the rooks he was using as, strangely enough, a tower. "Tower four ... Morrow."

"He's the dangerous one," Vin murmured, eyes narrowing as Chris placed the rook back down on the table.

"That's why I'm leaving him up to you and Thumper." He chuckled low as the two men grinned ferally at each other, punching knuckles. "Phase three: the water cannon. Four, the helicopter." He let his eyes cut over to Standish, making sure the bookie knew this was where he came in. Standish was definitely listening. "The chopper is the high ground. Taking it is going to be a bitch." He paused, eyes going over his men again. "But it's doable."

The men all nodded, eyes glued to the chess pieces. The eyes followed his hand as he picked up the queen. "Finally, the flag. We capture the flag and fly it upside down."

"Distress," Josiah murmured, smile mischievous and admiring all at once. "Brilliant."

"Thanks," Chris laughed.

"Uh, upside down?" Buck asked, eyes darting from Chris to Josiah.

"It means send help. The fort has fallen," Josiah explained.

"Ah." Buck's smile was a little scary.

"Bucklin," Vin drawled, "I'm startin' to think you don't care if we get rid of Winter or not. You're just itchin' to fight."

"Well, as I see it, gettin' rid of Winter is just icin' on the cake." Buck leaned back against the wall, grinning. It wasn't a nice grin.

"You can have the cake, Buck, we'll take the icing," Chris snarked, making the others laugh. "We keep the flag that way until Travis comes and sees it."

"And then we've won, right, General?" Nathan's smile was huge, to say the least.

Chris nodded, but everyone turned as Standish scoffed rather loudly.

"Standish, shut the fuck up," Buck growled, stepping forward and grabbing the smaller man. "Sir, see what I mean about him?"

"Hey, Ezra, what are you doin' here anyway?" Vin stood, tapping on the grip Buck had on the other man. "Buck, let him go."

Wilmington growled, but complied. "Well? Answer the man."

"I would not know," Ezra replied, but didn't look up as he straightened his clothing. "Ask the general. He is the one who invited me."

"Sir, I know his father served with you in Iraq," Nathan asked, his voice was quiet, but it still carried throughout the cell, "but do we really need him?"

Chris leaned back, letting his eyes meet defiant ones before smiling. "Yes, we do." He nearly smirked at the surprise that lit up Ezra's eyes but turned away instead. "Duffy, you're in maintenance, right?"

The big man looked around uncertainly but answered, "Yes, sir."

* * *

"Standish, you got a minute?"

Ezra stared longingly at the stairwell where all of his transactions took place, and where he could be alone unless someone had business with him. But he forced a smile onto his lips and turned to the general. "For you, General Larabee, of course."

Nodding towards the lesser used area of the Yard, Larabee started ambling. "How am I doing?"

He didn't even pretend to not know what the general was asking. "Five to two, in the colonel's favor."

"You don't think we'll win?" Larabee sent him a deprecating smile that made him shake his head.

"He knows too much. He's prepared. He's ready." Ezra didn't know why, but he wanted to impart upon the general the futility of all of this.

"He may be prepared, but he's not ready."

Sometimes, talking to men like Larabee made him want to bang his head against a brick wall. That, at least, would make some kind of impression. "If you say so, sir."

Larabee laughed. "You know, we could use you."

Ezra shook his head. "I just want to survive this and go home."

"Did he make you a deal?"

"What?" That made him stop dead in his tracks. Made him stare at the other man. "Excuse me?"

Larabee just smiled. Of course, it was a smile full of knowledge and mischief and even a hint of smugness. "That's what I would do if I was him. I would go to you and offer a trade. He knows what you're capable of."

He could feel his mouth moving in a most ungainly fashion, but couldn't quite stop. "General Larabee—"

"But so do I." Now that really stopped him cold. "Winter came to you because he sees the worst in you and he's going to play to it. I want to see the best. These men need you. I need you." Larabee's eyes were magnetic; Ezra was completely incapable of pulling away from them. And he understood why an entire platoon of men would disobey direct orders from the President himself to follow this man. "It's your choice, Ezra. And don't tell me you're surviving here, you're hiding."

He stared as the general walked away feeling, gut punched and having no idea what to do about it.

* * *


	4. The Castle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you and huge big hugs to both Phyllis and Karen. They both held my hand and got me through this monstrous story. Thank you to Adrianna, my bestest friend, who checked the military aspect of the story as best she could while helping the victims of Hurricane Katrina with the rest of her unit. I'd also like to thank the B team and the wip-it-good challenge. Without them, this story would have never been finished because it took the threat of public humiliation for me to write this story. The challenge made me finish the story, but Phyllis, Karen, and my teammates were the reason I remained semi-sane. Thank you to all of you.

Part Sixteen   


Perez stepped aside to let McClaren into their commandant's office. The sergeant carefully placed Colonel Winter's flag into its proper box before saluting both men and leaving. "Colonel, Prisoner Standish wishes to have a word with you."

The colonel distractedly nodded. "Five minutes."

"Of course, sir." Turning, he pushed Standish out into the hallway before returning to Winter's office. Five minutes later, as promised, he returned to the hallway. "Standish, he'll see you now."

Standish nodded, gathering his ever-present bag before following the lieutenant into Winter's office.

"Sir, Prisoner Standish."

Winter turned, staring expectantly at Standish. "Well?"

"If you want me to do this, three months will not work."

"Mr. Standish—"

Standish vehemently shook his head, involuntarily stepping forward. "Three days will not even work, sir. If I do this, I must be taken out of here immediately."

Winter return to his paperwork, shrugging. "I'm afraid that's not possible."

"When the situation explodes, and it will, everyone is going to know that I informed you of their plans, and my life will be forfeit. I am not doing this without guarantees from you, Colonel."

Winter stayed silent, moving papers about his desk as if organizing them.

"I see," Standish murmured, before smiling snidely. "Then I wish you luck in finding someone else who knows as much as I do and is willing to talk." He gathered the bag to his chest, turning on his heel.

"The earliest I could get you out is a week."

Standish stopped, still facing the door. "Seven days," he mocked, "I would not last seven seconds out there."

"You could ride out the week in solitary confinement. No one can get you there," Winter proposed, smiling in that fake way of his again.

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Standish answered, clearly not happy but willing to take what he could get.

"Excellent. So what does Mr. Larabee have planned?" Winter fully turned now, attention completely focused on the inmate.

"He is going to take over the prison," Standish answered.

Winter raised an eyebrow. "That won't get you released, Standish, that won't even get you extra potatoes at dinner."

Standish's expression was sheer outrage. "I know the details, colonel. I know how he plans to neutralize your guards. I know what weapons and tools he has. I also know where he's hiding them."

"Do you know when?"

"Standish!"

The three men jumped as the screams and yells penetrated the oak doors to the office.

"Standish! I know you're in there, you yella-belly snake! You rat!"

Perez pushed opened the door, Winter right on his heels.

"What the hell is going on here?" Perez demanded, snapping his baton hard against Tanner's legs, nearly getting his head taken off by the man's failing legs.

"Niebolt!" Winter barked. "What's he doing here!"

"He brought up the laundry, sir, then just went crazy!" Niebolt barely managed to answer as he wrapped his arms around the wiry but strong prisoner. Next to him, Zamora grunted when Tanner slammed an elbow into his side.

"You snake! You damn rat! What d'ya tell him!" Tanner was staring straight at Standish, eyes shooting fire.

"What is the problem, Mr. Tanner? My mother is ill and I am merely asking for a furlough!"

"Standish, shut up and get back into my office!" Winter yelled the order over his shoulder. "Get this man out of here! Put him in solitary. No one sees him, no one talks to him. Got it?" He nodded with satisfaction as all three men answered in the affirmative before dragging Tanner off. He turned back to see Standish pale and huddled around that big cloth bag he always carried.

"Oh sweet Jesus." Standish's accent was more pronounced than ever.

"It seems you no longer have a choice, Mr. Standish. Either you tell me what I want to know or you'll spend the next three years in solitary."

Standish nodded. "Yes, all right. But I need more time. I'll know when he plans to attack but I need more time. Come get me at oh-five hundred."

* * *

Ezra didn't need to look up to know that the footsteps that weren't even trying to be quiet were making their way to his cell.

"Ready to play?" Perez whispered.

He nodded. Minutes later, he was once again in Winter's office. Winter was at his desk once more, papers in hand. Perez stood guard mere feet from his back.

"Good morning, Mr. Standish."

"Good morning, sir." He had to fight to keep his face neutral.

"So, what do you have for me?" Winter stood, coming around his desk to lean against it.

"Not much," Ezra answered, waiting for the tick of irritation to start its way across Winter's face. He smiled inwardly when he spotted it.

"'Not much?' Then why are you here?"

He shrugged, letting a little of the smirk show. "I thought there might be something you would like to know."

"Oh really, and what's that?" Oh yes, Winter was definitely irritated now.

"When they take over the prison, they're going to fly the flag upside down."

"Upside down?"

Seeing Winter's face drop into confusion, Ezra took great pleasure in explaining. "It is the international sign of distress."

"I know that!" Winter snapped, stepping forward in a manner that Ezra thought was supposed to be threatening. "Where are they going to get a flag?"

Ezra let the smirk fully form on his lips. "They already have it. Yours."

"Mine?" It was almost comical to watch as Winter hastily stumbled to his prize flag box, opening it only to find it empty. "Perez! Who was in here yester—"

"I took it, you bastard." He grinned smugly at Winter's utterly flabbergasted and stunned expression.

The man didn't recover quickly, but eventually he did. "I thought you were smarter than that."

"Yes," Ezra sighed mournfully, "I know you did."

* * *

Ezra grunted as a booted foot planted itself solidly against his back.

"Where's the flag?"

Shaking his head, he laughed. "Have you checked your back pocket, Mr. Morrow?" Standish regretted his words immediately as he was hauled to his feet by Morrow's crony, Zamora. The big man shook him.

"The man asked you a question, Standish."

"And I answered it." Ezra braced himself as Zamora heaved back just enough to throw him down the metal stairs. Gasping with pain, Ezra pushed himself back to his feet. Instantly, he was grabbed. "Unhand me, you cretins."

"Shut up, Standish." Zamora bodily hauled him to the hole, throwing him in.

Ezra sat back, alternatively glaring and smirking at the closed door. He rested, knowing his time would be coming soon.

* * *

Buck could feel his entire body tighten with anticipation the second the alarm sounded. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it on before stepping out of his cell. Guards were running in from all directions, yelling at the prisoners to get out of the cells. Perez was on the intercom, telling them to head for the Yard through the south port. Trading glances with Chris and Nathan, he ambled out of the Tiers.

Behind him, above him, and around him, the guards raided the prison cells in search of the missing flag. Mattresses, books, sheets, and clothing all went flying as the soldiers tore up the prisoners' only personal space. Ducking his head, Buck hid his sneer.

Let the bastards search. They weren't going to find a damn thing.

* * *

Part Seventeen  


"I don't want to hear that! Find the damn thing!" Perez yelled into his radio before visibly calming himself. "Sir, they found a lot of weaponry ... ."

"But no flag." Winter stared at the mass of prisoners milling about in the Yard. Instead of heading off into their respective cliques, they all stood as one solid entity. Arms folded or akimbo, but they were all staring at his window. By the blonde hair, he could tell that Larabee stood dead center, with his arms folded across his chest. Grabbing the binoculars, he saw Larabee's men surrounding him with the exception of Tanner and Standish.

"No, sir. But at least we have their weapons. There's not much they can do without them."

Using the binoculars, he continued to watch the inmates. They were shifting, nearly restless ... it was as if they were waiting. And they were still staring at his window. Dread started to itch its way forward. "Perez, how many men do we have searching the Tiers?"

"Close to a hundred, sir. Pretty much everyone we could get."

The arm holding the binoculars dropped. "It's not about the flag."

"Sir?"

"He wants to be in the Yard," Winter said, eyes widening. "Get all of our men out into the Yard. Now!"

Inside the Tiers, heads snapped up as Perez's voice boomed over the intercom again.

"Everybody in the Yard! Now! All teams into formation! Now! Now! Now!"

They stormed through the Tiers, metal ringing with their every step as the alarm sounded.

* * *

The alarm sounded.

"Sir?" Buck whispered, eyes studying the location of the four measly guards Winter had left on them.

Chris stared at the clock, waiting for just the right moment. The second the minute hand hit six ten, he yelled, "Now!"

Men scrambled in every direction. The ground guards froze in shock. The tower guards started firing.

* * *

Winter's mouth dropped as everything happened at once. Prisoners were running, the guards were yelling and running _away_ from the prisoners, and his tower snipers started firing. "Perez! Get those men down there now!"

Perez skidded to a halt next to him, hand going shakily to his mouth. "Oh my God."

"Now, Perez!"

* * *

"C'mon, c'mon!" Josiah ran to the doors that led to the Tiers, hands held out as another inmate threw a set of heavy chains to him. Pulling the thick metal through the door handles, he quickly snapped the lock in place, jumping back as bodies slammed into the doors from the other side. He took a second to grin in the soldiers' stunned faces through the tiny window before heading for the next set of doors.

* * *

"Sir, they chained the doors of the Tiers," Perez informed his CO.

Winter lowered his binoculars. "Yes, I can see that."

Perez cleared his throat at the sarcasm. "It'll take them a little while to go around."

Winter nodded. "When they get there, tell the men to gear up but hold them. They'll expect us to come in hard and fast ... so we won't."

Perez stared at him in disbelief, eyes wandering to the chaos that reigned in the Yard, but nodded anyway. Orders were orders.

* * *

Buck led the charge against the ground troops. It barely took he and his squad of men minutes to subdue the guards, and drag their unconscious bodies to the designated temporary holding pens. He dumped his load on the ground, letting other hands strip the guard of anything useful. He ducked and weaved in place, avoiding the rubber bullets that were flying through the air, eyes searching out and finding Chris.

The general was surrounded by men as they ran for the command post. If one of the circle went down, another man took his place. Vin, Buck, and Josiah had made it very clear: the general had to be protected at all costs. Making sure Dellwo had their prisoners covered, and grabbing the guards' radios the thin black man held out to him, Buck ran across the Yard to the command post, sliding in just as another hail of bullets rained down.

"Guards are secured, sir!"

Chris nodded, taking the radios Buck handed him. He passed them out to Josiah, Buck, Duffy, and kept one for himself. "Duffy, get into the maintenance shed, you know what to do."

The younger, but bigger man nodded, but it wasn't a confident one. "Sir," he trailed off, voice clearly uncertain.

"Duffy," Chris grabbed his shoulder, "you can do this. And you'll be getting help any second now."

Duffy nodded, gripping the radio and ran for it.

"Buck, get Vin and Ezra out of the hole. Then get to the cafeteria."

"Yes, sir!"

* * *

"C'mon!" Buck waved his arms at his men, grinning as they dragged the guards to the hole. He frisked Angleton, knowing the sergeant would have the keys to all the cells in the Hole. Whooping with triumph, he turned towards the cells.

"How's it goin', Buck?"

"Like clockwork, kid, like clockwork." He grinned at Tanner, exchanging nods before the younger man lit out. He turned to the next cell, barely glancing at the inmate inside before unlocking it and turning to the next one.

"Mr. Wilmington, where's the general?"

"Standish, you li'l prick!" Buck whirled, eyes wide and disbelieving as he watched Ezra step out of the cell. "I can't believe you actually did it! You cost me a whole pack of smokes! Tanner doesn't even smoke and he won!"

Ezra laughed ruefully. "Yes, well, there is probably going to be a lot of losers today, my friend."

"Yeah, you're probably right." Buck turned the key again, slapping Wilson's back as the inmate rushed out to join the fight. "The general's at the wall."

Ezra saluted with two fingers before rushing out.

* * *

Ducking and weaving, much like every inmate there, Ezra finally skidded into the CP. The general's eyes immediately latched onto him.

"Good to see you, Ezra."

"Sir." He smiled, but shook his head ruefully. It made Chris laugh. "Where do you want me, sir?"

"Duffy needs you in maintenance. Call Travis for help, pretend you're McClaren if you need to." Chris' wink spoke volumes. The general wanted to make sure the outside world knew of the troubles in the Castle.

"Yes, sir." He tore off, dodging bullets and inmates alike, finally reaching his destination moments later. He was there in time to see Duffy and several others breaking down the door to the office. "Duffy!"

"Thank the fuckin' God!" Duffy thrust the phone at him like it was poisoned. "You call 'im. I gotta get to that waterline."

Ezra nodded and started dialing. As the phone rang, he watched the multitude of inmates working frantically to finish off the weapons that had been half assembled and hidden. Most of it was destined to be taken outside and given to Josiah. The older man never told him what he was planning, but it had to be huge to take this much manpower and hardware.

"General Travis, please," he asked very politely of the secretary when she picked up. "Yes, of course I know what time it is, madam, but you must wake him. I am Sergeant McClaren from the Castle. I have a message for him from Colonel Winter. Actually, ma'am, it is an SOS. We are having an upraising of the inmates. We need help."

He spun at the crashing, not realizing what it was until he saw Duffy and another massive inmate, Cyrus, he thought, slamming sledge hammers into the wall. The waterline had to be there and it had to be turned off if they were to survive the water cannon.

* * *

"The colonel said to hold them!" Perez yelled into his radio until he was satisfied that the order would be obeyed. He turned back to the window, eyes still disbelieving. "Sir, maybe we should call for reinforcements? We should get General Travis and his men down here."

Winter whirled, stalking towards him. "And say what? That Colonel Winter has lost control of his own prison?" he hissed.

* * *

"Get the fuck off me!"

"You're gonna ..."

"I said get the fuck off! Don't need your fuckin' help!"

"Fine!" Jackson whirled away from the injured man, glaring. Dark eyes pinned the nearest medically trained prisoner. "You! Catch him when he face plants into the floor, then check his vitals."

"Yes, sir!"

"Doc! Doc! Over here!"

"Oh my God ... my eye! I can't see! My eye!"

Jackson ran to the man's side, pushing the guy's friend away. "Let go. Let me see."

"Oh God, my eye!"

"Let go and let me see!" He barely pried the man's hands away when more wounded rushed in, led by Standish.

"Doc, where do you want him?"

Glancing around, Jackson pointed. "There! That table."

Two other prisoners rushed over to help Standish pull the man off his shoulders and onto the table. "Dr. Jackson, he's not breathing!"

"Shit!" Jackson slapped some torn bedding into the bleeding man's hand. "Cover it up with this. You're gonna be fine. Didn't hit your eye, dumbass. You," he pointed to the man's friend, "watch him. If it doesn't stop bleedin' you tell me."

"Yes, sir!"

He ran over to Standish pulling off the bloody dish washing gloves. "How long hasn't he been breathing?"

"I don't know," Standish huffed out, still trying to catch his breath. "I think ... I found him like that."

Jackson leaned over, carefully listening over the shouts and moans. "Damnit! His heart's stopped." He shook his head, shoulders slumping.

"Wait! Wait a minute! Can't you shock him or something?"

The doctor glared. "Standish, I'm using Popsicle sticks for finger splints, where the hell am I suppose to get a crash cart?"

"Shit! I don't know! But there's got to be something!"

"There's—" Jackson's eyes fell to the electrical socket above Standish's head.

* * *

"Here!" Standish flew through the makeshift triage room, ripping apart a lamp as he ran.

Working as one, the doctor and the bookie tore the rubber covering from the wires, each one wrapping the exposed metal wiring around the handles of two large ladles, finally wrapping the handles and the wires with scraps of rubber.

Jackson climbed onto the particle wood table. "When I say pull, you unplug it."

Standish nodded.

"Clear!"

Standish hesitated, eyes falling on the men still gathered around them.

Jackson glared at them. "Get the hell away from us! Move it!"

The men scurried back.

He turned, nodding to the other man. "Clear!"

The plug slid home, electricity flowed through the large spoons, the prisoner's body arched off the table.

"Pull!"

Jackson dropped the makeshift paddles, fingers going to the man's neck, ears straining to hear breath. "Clear!"

Once again the body arched, again the doctor listened for breath. He shook his head. "It's too late. He's gone."

"No, damnit! Try again!" Standish insisted, grabbing Jackson's arm, stopping him from sliding off the table. "One more time."

Jackson stared into emerald green eyes, then nodded, reaching for the ladles. "Clear!" Dropping the "paddles," he leaned forward, eyes widening. "Fuck, it worked. It worked!"

Standish laughed giddily, then shook it off, eyes going back to the injured still streaming in. "Where do you want me, doc?"

Nathan shook his head. "The general wants you outside."

"For what?" Ezra didn't trust the smirk that bloomed on Nathan's face.

* * *

"Uh, colonel?"

"What is it, Perez?" Winter took his eyes of his Yard.

"He wants to talk to you."

"Who?"

"Him."

That got his attention. He grabbed the radio that Perez held out to him. "Yes?"

"Colonel, I'm taking command of your prison."

The voice was utterly calm in comparison to the chaos that obviously reigned about him. It pissed Winter off because he knew his voice had the tiniest tremor to it. He consoled himself with the knowledge that Larabee couldn't hear it through the radio static. "Like hell you are."

Through the binoculars, he saw Larabee smirk. He nearly threw the radio through the window.

* * *

Part Eighteen  


Josiah grunted, hefting the metal arm into place. "It's in!"

Wilson nodded, his arm working so fast Josiah could barely see it. Josiah may have planned this baby, but Wilson was the mechanic that would make it happen.

"No! That piece goes over to the left two feet!" Josiah yelled, frustrated that he couldn't point, but sighed in relief when the inmates got it right. Even with all the yelling and guns going off, he clearly heard the static.

"Josiah? How's it coming?"

Wilson finished just in time for him to grab the radio. "We're almost ready, sir! Shit!" He ducked, taking Wilson down with him as bullets came too close for comfort.

"Launch when ready then."

"Yes, sir!"

* * *

Perez squinted, then pulled the binoculars up for a closer look. "Sir? Can you come here, sir?"

"What now?"

Perez turned, handing his CO the binoculars and pointing. "Do you see that? Over there in the alley. What are they doing?"

Winter let the binoculars drop. "I don't know."

They watched as the inmates pushed the metal monster into the open, right into the middle of the yard.

It wasn't until the thing was facing him that Winter realized what it was. It looked just like the one in the books about medieval war practices. "Dear God, it's a trebuchet."

* * *

"Buck, release the wave," Chris ordered, wincing as another man pushing the trebuchet fell under the hail of rubber bullets. He turned. "Vin, those things ready?"

The feral grin was his answer.

"Launch when ready."

* * *

"You heard the man! Let's go!" Buck led the charge out of the cafeteria, metal lunch tray strapped to his arm just like everyone else. They ran at full tilt, raising the trays to cover themselves from the snipers' fire. "Into formation!"

The men moved as if they had done this all their lives. They ringed the men pushing the trebuchet and carrying its ammunition, covering them from all angles so that the bullets bounced harmlessly off their homemade shields.

* * *

"All right, guys, let's go." Vin didn't look to see if they followed, but headed for Morrow's tower, hugging the Castle's wall to avoid detection and the bullets. Morrow was the most dangerous of the snipers and had to be taken out first. "Anderson, there. Mickelroy, over there. No! Over to your left a foot. There!"

"Tanner!"

He deftly caught the liquid filled bag, cradling it in the pouch. Just as the general had planned, Morrow was too busy shooting the inmates around the trebuchet; he didn't even notice the men under his tower. Vin smirked as they pulled back on the rubber hoses, pulling them just taunt enough. The hoses flung the Molotov cocktail up the height of the tower. Flames burst upon impact.

"Yes!" Vin watched with malicious glee as Morrow was forced to run from the tower as the fire spread. Whatever Josiah's Pruno recipe was, it made one hell of a bomb. "Let's go! Three more to go!"

The men eagerly followed, high from their success in beating the Yard's bully. They took out the second tower as easily as the first. But the third tower had learned. Vin screamed as the bullet ripped through the bag, flames were licking at his arms and legs. He dropped and rolled but the flames weren't going out.

"Shit! Shit!" Thumper was suddenly there, heavy hands slapping at the flames that spread along Vin's legs.

"Thanks, Thum-ow! Fuck! Thumper!" He squirmed away as Thumper kept hitting him even after the flames were out. "Fuck, what are you ... ow!"

Thumper got in his face. "Told you I get you back, motherfucker."

"Asshole," Tanner yelled, but the smile took the sting from the insult.

"So what are we gonna do, Tanner? We ain't got any more Pruno left." Thumper moved over to let the other men in their squad take cover with them.

Vin grinned, turning to Grece. "You got it, Grece?"

The tall thin man grinned. "Oh hell yeah." He and his buddy took off running.

Vin pulled a wrench from his pocket and flipped it in the air before catching it.

"What the hell are you gonna do with that?"

Vin's smile made Thumper smile.

* * *

"What are they doing now?" Perez murmured to himself, watching as two inmates ran to join Tanner and Thumper at the third tower. Changing the scope on the binoculars, he made out the outline of an oxygen tank. "Fuck!"

The third tower blew as the tank hit it.

"Sir," Perez ground out. "I think it's time to deploy."

"I think you're right."

* * *

Vin stood, shaking the tower's debris from his body. "Fuck me, it worked!"

"Damn that was cool." Thumper's voice was pure awe. They punched knuckles before running for their next assignments.

* * *

"Brace yourselves!" Buck dug his feet in, knowing in a few seconds, Winter's Blue and Red teams would be flooding out of the Tiers. He was right. He gritted his teeth against the onslaught of heavy bodies and even heavier full-length metal shields. "Hold your positions!"

* * *

"Fire when ready, Josiah."

Sanchez grinned. "Wilson, it's time."

The other man grinned as well, hefting a rock from the wall into the sling.

"Fire!" Josiah yelled, jumping away from the metal arm.

* * *

Winter and Perez both jumped as the rock flew towards them. Thankfully it only hit the window's ledge.

"Perez, get the tank rolling and the chopper in the air."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

"Josiah, move ten feet forward."

"Yes, sir!" Josiah tucked the radio into his shirt. "All right, men! Ten feet forward! Ready! Hut!"

It was a slow process, moving the trebuchet and the ring of men around them, but it happened.

Josiah grinned at Wilson. "This is it, I can feel it."

"Yes, sir." Wilson bent, grabbing another rock.

"No, not that one. This one." Josiah tapped another one, slightly larger but vastly more important.

"Yeah," Wilson drawled, carefully placing it in the sling.

* * *

"Colonel! Move!" Perez barely had the time to jump towards Winter before the projectile slammed through the window.

From the floor, Winter stared in shock as the stone crashed through his most prized war memorabilia. He pushed Perez off his legs, unsteadily making his way to the rock.

"Sir—"

"Watch the window," he ordered over his shoulder. Eyes still glued to the rock. The light wasn't deceiving him. There, etched into the stone, were the words "John Dunne, US Marine."

"Sir! Look out!"

He jumped just in time as another bomb landed in the room. This time, it burst into flames. He scuttled backwards, letting Perez and the fire extinguisher do all the work.

* * *

He didn't need to lift his head to know that the water cannon had just entered the Yard. "Duffy, how's that coming?"

"Almost there, sir!"

"Hurry!"

Seconds later the high-pressure cannon began firing and stones started flying through the air.

* * *

"Oh fuck!" Buck broke formation as Winter's men left them alone to protect the water cannon. The cannon was currently turning the stone wall of their command post into weapons against them. The water lifted the stones, throwing them at haphazardly against the inmates, but striking them nevertheless. Damnit! The general was in there! "Shift formation! Cover the CP! Cover the CP!"

The men instantly turned towards the wall, braving the painful deluge. They raised their shields and dug into the muddy ground for all they were worth.

"C'mon, Duffy," Buck muttered. "Hurry the hell up!"

* * *

Duffy gave the wheel one last wrench, screaming in triumph as it spun down.

* * *

The men froze for one instant before realizing that the water was off. Their roar was deafening as they charged Winter's soldiers.

Buck was the first to reach the tank, launching himself through the air to tackle five of the guards.

Josiah was right on his heels, barreling through more guards.

The guards ran, abandoning the tank and the Yard.

* * *

"Colonel, it's General Travis. He wants to speak to you."

"What?" Winter grabbed the phone, placing a hand over the receiver. "If you disobeyed me and called him—"

"No, sir!" Perez's wide eyes confirmed his words.

He sucked in a breath, calming himself as much as he could while everything was going to hell. "General Travis, how can I help you?"

"Funny, that's what I was coming to do — help you."

"I don't understand, sir."

"You sent out an SOS, didn't you? A prison upraising?"

"Actually, sir, we have the situation under control. We're just mopping up now."

"Good, I'll see you in twenty."

Winter slammed the phone down after hearing the dial tone. He threw it across the room for good measure. "Get the chopper here now!"

* * *

"Load the cannon," came Larabee's order.

"Yes, sir." Buck jammed the radio into his pants, using both hands to climb up the tank. Another prisoner handed him the grappling hook and its attached chain. "Make sure it's secure!" he yelled at Josiah.

The other man rolled his eyes, but made sure any way that the other end of the chain was fastened onto the tank.

Seconds later, the chopper roared into view, the sniper already shooting. The shield bearers were once again in formation, covering as many as they could.

Buck grabbed his radio. "Duffy, turn it back on!" As he watched the gauges fill up, he aimed the nozzle straight at the chopper.

* * *

Ezra watched from next to Chris as Buck hooked the chopper's runners with one expert try.

"You're up, Ezra."

He swallowed, but one quick glance at those eyes and the fear diminished. "Yes, sir."

"Be careful, Ezra," Chris warned.

He smirked a cocky grin at his CO. "Yes, sir." He ran straight for Josiah, nearly laughing as the big man boosted him up in one smooth motion. The chains were rough against his skin, but he climbed it. He was nearly to half way up when he felt the jerk. "Oh shit."

He was swinging in the wind ... literally. One glance down confirmed that the other end of the chain was no longer attached to the tank. He had no choice but to keep climbing. He didn't dare breathe until his hands wrapped around the left runner and he boosted himself onto it. He took one second to catch his breath before carefully maneuvering himself up. The sniper was on the other side, still shooting.

He knew the sniper would be strapped in and settled for punching the guy's lights out.

"Hey!"

The pilot went down just as easily. Ezra frantically grabbed the controls, sliding into the co-pilot's seat. Even after four years, the memories hadn't dulled. His hands and feet knew exactly what to do. Several choreographed moves later, the chopper was on the ground and the inmates were grabbing the pilot and sniper. He pulled back on the controls, sending the bird back up into the air. He knew exactly what his next goal was.

The last tower was still firing on the inmates. Vin had taken care of Morrow, but Zamora was in the fourth tower and the man was just as bad as his crony. Last year, he had shot and killed George Potter because the old man couldn't drop to his knees fast enough when the alarm sounded. Ezra grinned ferally. Potter had been a friend.

He flew the Apache right up to the tower, smiling the same feral smile at Zamora through the glass. Wincing and instinctively jerking the controls as Zamora fired on him. Ezra stared at the hole in his windshield. The bastard was using live ammo.

"Good bye, Mr. Zamora. May you roast in hell."

He swung the controls, the chopper three-sixtied, sending the tail right through the tower.

* * *

Chris watched in horror as the body of the chopper slammed into the ground, rolling like a die across the yard. Miraculously, not a single inmate was caught beneath the wreckage. But Ezra hadn't come out. He ran, ignoring the shouts of the others, towards the chopper. The hot metal burned as he jerked opened the door.

"I've never crashed one before."

Chris couldn't help the chuckle as he ripped the seatbelts off. "C'mon, Ezra, we need to get out of here." He slung an arm around the pilot's waist, bodily pulling him from the wreck. They ran, as fast as Ezra could go before the explosion flung them to the ground.

They stood, both shaky but alive and intact. Chris studied the Yard. All of the dangers had been taken out. The towers were lit matchsticks against the afternoon sky. The chopper was burning as well. The tank sat useless on the other side of the Yard. The soldiers were nowhere to be seen. He saw Nathan emerge from his pseudo-infirmary, as well as any of the men who were still able to walk. Buck and Josiah were soaked through and through, but their grins were startlingly white against their mud-spattered faces. Vin looked a bit burnt around the edges but otherwise, he was fine.

"It's time."

The inmates watched as Ezra nodded and moved stiffly over to the wall. He grunted as he moved a few of the stones to reveal his bag. From its depths, he reverently pulled out the stolen flag before carefully handing it to the general.

Chris nodded to Josiah, who smiled. "Soldiers! Fall in!"

The men moved immediately this time. They quickly fell into perfect formation before the doors of the Tiers.

Seeing the men standing to his satisfaction, Josiah turned. "The men are assembled, sir."

Chris patted him on the shoulder. "Thank you, Josiah."

"No, sir. Thank you."

The sound of the Tier doors opening focused their attention. Chris turned and watched as Winter and a squad of his men emerged. The two groups faced one another in perfect silence.

Winter detached himself from his men, stopping feet from his enemy. He glanced up, causing everyone else to as well. Snipers lined the buildings surrounding the Yard. Nearly a hundred rifles were aimed into the mass of men.

"I have authorized the use of lethal ammunition at this facility," Winter announced as loudly as he could. "Any prisoner who refuses to obey my commands will be shot." He paused, staring significantly at Larabee. "All prisoners down on the ground now."

No one moved.

Chris could see the colonel grinding his teeth. The general recoiled just a bit when the man stepped into his personal space. Winter reeked of stale sweat and fear.

"I will give that command one more time and then I will fire into them," Winter said softly, cocking his head. "Surely you don't want that on your conscience, do you, Prisoner Larabee?" He, and Perez, who had followed him, both stepped back away from the assembled men.

"All prisoners down on the ground now."

Again, no one moved.

Only Perez heard the colonel's growl as he raised the radio.

"Wait."

All eyes turned to Larabee. He flicked one more disgusted glance at Winter before turning to address his men.

"We don't have to do this," Ezra whispered.

"We can fight on," Vin agreed.

"No, it ends here," Chris said quietly with a sad smile. "Men," he called out loudly, "get down."

At first, no one moved. But with a shared glance that said volumes, Vin slowly moved to lie on the ground. After him, Josiah, Nathan, Ezra, and Buck followed in succession. Then row after row of men were on the ground.

Satisfied that every man had followed his orders, Chris turned back to face Winter.

Who was strutting towards him, hand out. "Now give me my flag."

Chris shook his head. The man still didn't get it. "It's not _your_ flag." Spinning on his heel like they taught at the academy, he turned towards the flagpole that had stood unadorned all day.

"What are you doing, Mr. Larabee? You've lost!"

He ignored the raised voice, continuing his march towards the pole.

"You will not raise that flag, do you hear me? You will not raise it upside down! You _will_ get down on the ground! Get down or I will command them to open fire! This is my command!"

He was mere feet away from the flagpole, hoping that if the men did fire, he would be far enough away from those lying helplessly on the ground so that they wouldn't be caught in the middle.

"Fire! Snipers take that man out!"

Chris paused as he realized that silence was the only reaction to the colonel's orders. He glanced up at the frozen figures above him. He couldn't see their faces but he could feel the indecision in the air.

"What are you doing? That was an order! Shoot him!"

Again silence. But there was movement. Chris watched as one man slowly lowered his rifle. Then another and another and another. Soon enough every sniper had lowered their weapons. He let the sigh of relief escape. He slowly started forward again, reaching the pole in seconds. He carefully unhooked the snaps that attached the flag to the rope.

"Niebolt, McClaren! With me!"

He turned in time to see only Niebolt step uncertainly forward.

"No." Eyes jerked in surprise as Perez stepped forward. "Stay where you are, Niebolt."

"What are you doing?" Winter grabbed Perez, shaking the younger man. "Don't you see what he's doing? Don't you see he's going to desecrate my flag!"

"Sir," Perez grabbed his CO's hands. "Let go, sir. It's over."

Chris turned back, pulling on the rope hand over hand. It was beginning to unfurl as it rose into the air.

Shots rang out, each one deafening in the silence.

But still the flag rose ever higher.

"Colonel, put down the gun!" The lieutenant reluctantly pointed his own gun at his CO's back. "Sir, put it down!"

"I had to do it. You saw him. I couldn't let him desecrate the flag like that."

Lieutenant Perez barely heard the Colonel's rantings as he cuffed him. Instead, his eyes were on the injured general.

"Lieutenant, sir, can I help him?" Jackson's frantic pleas finally broke through his shock.

"Doc! Go help him!" He didn't see Jackson's grateful nod, automatically issuing orders. "McClaren, get these men back to the Tiers. Norwich, get the injured to the infirmary."

* * *

The prisoners mingled in the yard under the eagle eyes of the mix of new and old prison guards. Some were even working on the wall. Old habits were hard to break.

Sanchez straightened from the pile, wiping the sweat from his eyes. A movement near the tier's doors caught his eye. Squinting from under his upraised hand, he stared intently before a grin burst forth. He nudged Wilmington, nodding towards the tiers.

"Well hell," Wilmington murmured, his grin, impossibly, wider than Sanchez's.

Both men jumped from the wall, jogging quickly across the yard, and garnering the attention of the other prisoners. More eyes followed their progress when Wilmington whistled shrilly, easily catching Tanner and Standish's attention. The two followed the other man's nod, sharing a grin before straightening from the wall. The two sets of men reached their destination in time to hear the Nathan's admonishment.

"Take it easy, don't even think about movin' any faster than a snail, you hear me?" Jackson's voice broke no argument.

It brought grins to all their faces.

Tanner smirked. "Good thing he was as bad a shot as he was a warden, eh, Chief?"

Larabee rolled his eyes, hand still clutching his side.

"Any closer and we'd be attendin' his funeral," Nathan fussed, helping Vin lower the general onto a shaded bench.

"Doc, don't you know? Old war dogs never die," Josiah rumbled, grinning at them all.

"That is most reassuring, Mr. Sanchez, however," Standish gently touched the bandage on his head, "it still hurts like hell."

"Well, at least y'all got to do something!" Dunne muttered. "I was stuck in a coma!"

"Hell, kid, not all of us can sleep through everythin'," Buck teased.

The general grunted, shaking his head at the men's antics. Letting his head rest against the cool stone, Chris Larabee let his eyes wander. From the faces of his squabbling friends, to the other prisoners who had joined in their rebellion, to the high walls of the castle. He never would have thought it was possible, but here, amongst what should have been hell, he had found hope.

* * *

Epilogue  


Perez handed the prisoner, soon to be ex-prisoner, his personal effects. "You have someone picking you up?"

"Yeah." Dunne's smile was blinding, the kid even bounced a little.

Major Perez nodded to the gatekeepers before returning the grin. "You have a good life, Dunne. And don't take this personally," Perez winked, "but don't come back."

He laughed, executing his signature salute. "Yes, sir."

JD stared at the heavy gates creaking open, wanting them to open faster. He had been lonely these last two months. Oh, sure, the other inmates were around and kept him company. They even kept the new prisoners who thought it'd be fun to pick on him away. But the others were gone, Ezra the last to leave before him.

After Winter had been sentenced to prison for the shooting of an unarmed man in his own prison, Perez had been promoted and ran the Castle with a softer hand. Few, if any, fights broke out, but that was mainly because of the Chief's influence. Usually, all Chris had to do was glare disapprovingly at the fighters before they subsided. If that didn't work, Buck, Josiah, and a few of the larger inmates would separate the combatants.

Overall, life had been extremely smooth for the last two years. But then, one by one, the others had been released. As warden, Perez had seen the wisdom of releasing the Chief's inner circle quickly after Chris' release. Not that they caused trouble or anything, but General Travis had wanted them released ASAP and in these parts, what General Travis wanted, General Travis got. Since JD had served the least amount of time, he was the last to leave behind the stone walls.

He stood, just in front of the now closed gates, soaking in the first rays of the morning.

"Hey, kid, you wanna check out your new digs or are you gonna sunbathe all day?"

JD grinned, opening his eyes to find his friends lined up and leaning against a huge monstrosity that, he knew from the commercials only, was called an Expedition. Ten big steps had him in the midst of his friends, getting hugged hard and slapped on the back even harder.

"Chief," he saluted the man breathlessly. He held the correct salute for an instant before completing it with his fingers through his hair.

"Good to see you, JD." Chris' smile was warm and welcoming, extending up into his eyes. The kind eyes that had drawn the shy misfit to him all those years ago, like a bee to flower. "Ready to go home, kid?"

"Yes, sir!"

The End

* * *


End file.
